we make plans
by planet p
Summary: AU; there was the plan, and then there was the other plan; the one that involved having a plan and sticking to it, and the one that involved almost exactly the same thing, with an added dash of free will, or was that just stupidity?
1. Chapter 1

**we make plans, our plans decide they have other plans** by planet p

**Disclaimer** I don't own _the Pretender_ or any of its characters.

* * *

He'd had it all planned out; it was going to be foolproof. There was no way it could backfire on them; they'd be leaving just as Jarod's pursuit team were arriving. But first, he needed something from Parker; her clearance. As soon as she'd clocked in, the information he'd requested would be downloaded, and, a couple of seconds later, they'd be out the door and on their way to far away.

The company wasn't strictly Centre, in fact, most people wouldn't know, among its files, that it kept highly secretive, highly encrypted information in backup for a place called the Centre. And most people wouldn't care to know. But Jarod needed that information, and he'd go to any lengths to get it.

He'd needed Emily to come along because he'd needed a woman; the original team who'd been scheduled to come, before he'd sent them elsewhere, had consisted of a man and a woman. He didn't intend for the company to find out that they weren't who they'd claimed to be.

Emily was sceptical the download would work as he'd outlined it for her. Obviously, she imagined he'd have to spend time locating the files and so forth. He was pretty sure he'd figured it all out beforehand; Miss Parker's clearance would give him the access, and the program he'd devised would go to work and find him those files.

That was the plan, anyway.

The reality of it, was much different. The reality of it was slightly more complicated than that.

And involved the Tower.

That, Jarod hadn't anticipated. How to anticipate such a thing?

Just as he'd been about to leave, mission accomplished, a group of Tower operatives had turned up, messing everything up. So he had to go back. Back past Parker and her team.

Sydney had been taken off Jarod's retrieval team temporarily to attend an important conference, and had been replaced by a woman in her thirties, highly regarded in some circles.

Jarod didn't know what she was like, or how she'd fare getting along with Miss Parker or Broots, but really, he didn't think those two would be half as much trouble as Lyle.

Surprisingly, when he ran into Parker, she was with Lyle, and not Broots or the new woman.

"Here's how it's going to be," Lyle began. "You're going to go with Miss Parker, and you," here, he looked at Emily, "will come with me."

"I don't think so," Jarod replied, almost laughing. What a joke! If Lyle thought Emily and he couldn't take on Parker and he, then he was completely delusional.

Parker made a face, and scowled. "Look, trust me on this one, genius!"

"You?" he shot.

"Me! My Voices. Those guys aren't messing around, and neither are they Tower. Our main priority here is you, Wonder Boy. And it's you they're going to come after, not me, not the girl, not him. Do you want to stick around and find out who they are? I don't! Are you with me, or not?"

Emily nodded to him. "Go," she said. "I'll be fine."

"No."

Parker shot him a dark glare. "Every second we waste is a second in their favour, genius!" she snapped irritably.

"We should leave them to it," Lyle said to Emily, as though they'd never met before, and she was just another person. It annoyed her.

She still didn't argue.

Jarod tried to reach for her arm to hold her back, but she whispered loudly, "Go," and kept on walking.

"If anyone asks, you're my personal assistant," Lyle told her, as they walked, "Miranda Leskey."

"You have a personal assistant by that name?" Emily asked.

"I do now."

She rolled her eyes. "The rest of the team will know," she pointed out.

"You have a cell phone?" he asked, ignoring what she'd just said.

She took it out of her pocket and checked the coverage, a frown suddenly appearing on her face. That was definitely strange.

"That's them. But we might be able to work around it somehow."

"You mean Broots might be able to," Emily added.

"No, I mean you and I," he replied, grabbing her arm and pulling her into a room with a keypad she supposed hadn't been set to lock. A second later, two of the company's security rushed by, guns drawn.

"They definitely know something's up," Lyle told her.

"No, I'm sure it's just someone's birthday party!" Emily quipped sarcastically. She didn't appreciate being manhandled into strange rooms by psychopaths. And especially one who'd tried to kill her, in the past.

Once the men were gone, and had been for a while, they left the room. Emily made sure to pull the door closed after them, in case it was connected to any internal security systems that would be able to detect if it was open or closed and trigger an alarm, now that they knew something was amiss. The door clicked shut, the screen on the keypad stating that the door was once again locked, and would require the correct code to open it.

"How did you open that door?" she asked, catching up to Lyle.

"I imagine how everyone else does; there was a door handle, if you happened not to notice."

"And a keypad."

"Miss Parker knows the code - I don't think either of us wants to know who had to die for her to glean that - and beamed it over with her witchy powers. Penelope Tennyson to the rescue!"

Emily shook her head, an expression of ill-impress on her face. "Oh, that's adorable! I take it you mean her Inner Sense."

"You take correctly. I'm trying to think here. Do you think you could, I don't know, shut up."

Emily threw him a dirty glare, folding her arms over her chest, and said nothing back.

"Come on, come on." Wincing, he got out his phone. At least, Emily supposed it was a phone. He was typing on the touchscreen very fast. "You're killing me. Low-! Excuse me!"

He held out his hand. "Phone."

"I'm not-"

He snatched it off her and started pressing buttons.

"That's my phone!" she snapped. "What are you doing?"

"They're obviously after the same information that brought your brother here in the first place."

"I assume you're- What are you doing?"

"Trying to stop them."

"Why?"

"Because... I work for the Centre. No more questions. Tell your phone, kindly, to work faster."

"It's a cell phone; it won't listen to me," she stated the obvious.

"Shush."

"What did you just say to me?"

He waved a hand at her absently. "Go away."

She didn't bother asking him where he'd acquired a new thumb, or why he was using his left hand instead of his right; instead, she frowned suspiciously at the bracelet of beads he was wearing on his right hand.

"You wouldn't happen to have any of those cable things on you, would you?" he asked suddenly, looking up to meet her eyes.

She dropped the narrowed eyes and stared at him. "No, unfortunately, I don't," she said. "Why? Do you need them?"

"Would be nice, yes," he said, and walked off.

She walked after him. "Is my brother safe?"

"Don't know. Don't know your brother. Wouldn't know if he's safe. Who are you again?"

She scowled.

"Safe... Safe mightn't be the right word, exactly," he said, after a brief moment. "But he's unharmed. We've got to find a terminal to connect this to. The cell phones are still jammed."

"And you're just thinking this now?" she asked.

"I don't have a login, or a password. How am I possibly going to-" He stopped in front of a door and punched in some key code, and headed straight for the computers.

She glanced down the hall both ways before stepping inside the room, and wandered over in his direction, an appalled look leaping onto her face when she noticed that he'd began dismantling her phone.

"Don't worry, it won't hurt. Got to borrow your memory card."

"I stand reassured," she scathed. "I thought you couldn't get into the system-"

"Changed my mind. Do shut up. Someone's working here."

"Don't you mean some_thing_!" she spat.

He ignored that and went on typing. After a few minutes - she'd taken a seat on the desk and taken up staring straight at the ceiling, she'd purposefully not been monitoring the time - he nodded to her and said, "Check it now."

With a filthy look, she nodded back at him, to the phone on the desk. He put it back together and frowned at the screen, smiling slowly. "Damn, we're good!" He glanced at her suddenly, as though remembering _we_ meant more than just himself, and amended, "Well, I am."

"Bastard," she hissed back, taking the phone when he handed it to her. She typed in Jarod's speed dial number - number 2 - and was going for the call button when Lyle put a hand over hers.

"I can handle all manner of unpleasantries where they concern your brother, but not my sister," he told her. "Try not to alert the enemy of their whereabouts so soon in the chase. It takes all the fun out of it."

Emily scowled, pulling her hand back. "You said he was safe!"

"Unharmed, not safe."

She put her phone away. "I fucking hate you."

"Join the club, my dear," he replied, now back to doing something with the computer. "You're not the first to utter those words, and you'll surely not be the last. Don't, don't, don't! Oh, you-" He shot the computer screen a mean look. "I fucking hate you!"

"Giving up?" Emily asked, slipping off the desk and walking over to get a closer look.

"Stay... back! You'll interfere with... whatever. Back!"

"You're a real cute one, you know that," she said.

"That's why Mummy and Daddy loved me," he replied. "More... back."

"Jerk!"

"That too, darl."

"You should get one of those iPad things," she told him, inching closer to peer at the screen.

"You should mind your own personal space. Get down!"

He spun around and grabbed her arm, yanking her down to the floor with him. Exactly a second later, the door burst open and six or seven security guards in matching uniforms stormed in, guns pointed at them.

"Well, did you get them?" Lyle snapped. "Can't you see my assistant's having a panic attack over here!"

Emily glared at him. "I'm right, boys. I don't do panic attacks. Just not glamourous anymore, I'm afraid. My boss, on the other hand, wouldn't know what glamour was if it hit him in the head and proceeded to perform a victory dance dressed in mismatched fluoro colours."

"Remind me again why I hired you?" Lyle asked, seemingly confused.

"Because you liked my legs," she answered charmingly, looking to where his hand was resting on her leg.

"That's right, it's coming back to me now."

She smiled cutely.

"You'll have to come with us, sir. Madam."

Emily glanced at the guns they were holding pointedly. "They real?"

"Yes, ma'am. Very real," one of the men answered. The one who'd first spoken. The talker of the group.

She nodded. "Just as long as I know I'm in safe hands," she replied, brushing Lyle's hand off her leg.

"Yes, ma'am," the man replied.

She smiled.

* * *

Three hours and five interrogations later, the company decided it hadn't been them who'd broken in to steal files, and turfed them out on the street, along with Broots and the shrink whose name was apparently Karaan (with a double '_a_', but pronounced pretty much like regular, old Karen anyway). Karaan Donohue, she told Emily, and raised her eyebrows in a gesture like, _You?_

"Miranda Leskey," Lyle put in, before Emily could make a fool of herself by spitting out the wrong name. "My assistant."

"Your assistant?" Karaan asked.

"No, Karaan," Emily said sweetly, "I'm really the room service maid, but I was particularly excellent at servicing him that he decided to keep me."

Lyle was the only one laughing, at that. "Actually," he said, "it's because she's so delightfully funny."

"That's me! A delight!" she agreed.

"Yes you are!" he said brightly, patting her head.

She suppressed a scowl and went on smiling.

"And Mary was hiding where when we were on the plane over here?" Karaan asked sourly. "The luggage compartment?"

"Andi was here, running an errand I'd sent her on," Lyle replied.

"How do you get Andi out of Mary?" Karaan said, annoyed.

"Miranda," Emily reminded her, slowly. "My name's Miranda, _Caitlin_."

"Karaan," Karaan snapped.

Emily smiled at her nicely for a second, then rounded on Lyle with a half-glare. "Errand? I prefer super-secret undercover mission, thank you!"

He looked her up and down with a sceptical eye, then conceded, "Mmm. You might've dressed for the weather a little more wisely, I can agree with you there, 99."

She crossed her arms tightly and glared at the hem of her skirt, then back up at him. "Dress isn't short enough for you, is it!" she sniped angrily, grabbing hold of her hem.

"Ah, no, I don't think I want to see that!" Karaan interrupted, and Emily's expression instantly cheered. She forgot about her dress, and stepped over in Karaan's direction, smiling at her.

"Let's be friends, okay," she suggested. "That way, if the guys act out of line, we can beat them back into submission - as a team!" She beamed happily at the other woman.

Karaan's smile withered, leaving a very strange expression on her face. "A team?" she echoed uncertainly. "Great! We're all a team here, aren't we, boys!"

"Don't know what you're talking about, woman," Lyle said, grabbing Emily's arm and hauling her over. "You're not her girlfriend, or her BFF, or her soul sister - you're my personal fuckin' assistant! Quit freaking me out with the girl on girl stuff! Broots might go for that, but I don't."

Broots laughed, then shut up when he caught Karaan's expression. "You're strange, man. Strange," he said.

"Shut up," Lyle advised him.

"So where's Miss P?" he asked.

"Buying God awful ugly shoes at God awful ugly overinflated prices," Lyle snapped. "How should I know?" In a low voice, he added, to Emily, "We'll talk about this later."

"Does later involve champagne?" she asked in a sugar syrup voice. "And icepicks?"

Lyle shook his head. "I haven't decided yet."

She rolled her eyes. "Typical guy! You always bitch about us girls being indecisive, then you moan that you need, like, more time to make up your mind and come to 'an informed, logical decision'!"

"When you're done," Karaan put in.

"Oh, we're so not done," Emily told her, a little sparkle in her eye.

"We are for now," Lyle said, taking out his phone, then putting it away again and going for Emily's phone, instead.

She squealed - Did she fucking say he could touch her? - and shoved the cell phone at him. "Pervert!"

"That's fresh," he snapped, frowning in annoyance at the screen of her phone. "You, calling me a pervert, Little Miss Where's My Icepick?"

"Bitch," she muttered.

"What?"

"Little Miss Where's My Icepick, _Bitch_?" she corrected.

He shook his head. "Whatever. Look, do you have any numbers in here that _don't_ connect to fast food joints?"

"Fuck you, kindly, Maxwell!" she spat. "Very much."

"Oh, she's a charmer, alright," Lyle agreed, keying in a new number - Parker's, presumably - and hitting the call button. "Where are you? Right now! Miranda is starting to get on my nerves. Badly!"

Parker stepped around the corner up ahead, smiling, and declared, "Miranda, I think I love you!"

"Thanks, but I'm straight," she replied smoothly. "Pity, though, you're sorta cute."

Miss Parker glared at Lyle with a deathly menace. "Where's Jarod?"

"Fuck, I don't know, Sis! You didn't go after him?"

"No, I didn't _go after him_, _you stupid fucking fuck_!"

Lyle shot Karaan a wink. "Did I mention charming? All of the women I know are so... damn charming!" He pointed at Emily. "Miranda, the little girl, freaked out as soon as she saw the _guys with guns_! I couldn't go after _Jarod_, I had to stop her from getting herself _shot_!"

"Maybe I should fucking shoot you, then," Parker hissed venomously, "for hiring such a-" She blinked a couple of times, and fell short, forcing a smile to her face at Emily's concerned expression. _Such a...?_

"Broots? Donohue? Report."

"Neither of us caught sight of the subject, Miss Parker," Karaan replied. "Where did you go?"

Parker took a deep breath, calming herself, before she said, "I had an appointment with my manicurist I couldn't miss - what do you think?"

Karaan blanched. "You can't-"

"I'll talk to you anyway I like!" Parker stormed. "All of you! You're all incompetent fools!"

Lyle glanced at Emily, who was standing beside him. "Oh dear."

"I think you mean _Oh shit_," she said.

"No, I mean _Oh dear_," he replied calmly.

Parker pointed a finger at the both of them, her hand as steady as anything. "Shut up when I'm talking!"

"She's talking," Lyle told Emily. "Shut up."

Emily sniggered. "Wanker."

He laughed, and looked away from her, back to Parker, trying for a serious expression.

Miss Parker, done with her rant, shook her head and walked off. Apparently, today was the day they dragged themselves back home with their tails between their legs like the sore losers they were! And that really pissed her off!

Emily sighed, shrugging, and followed her down the footpath.

* * *

It only took for her to nip off to the onboard toilet, and Miss Parker was there, a hand on the doorhandle, behind her back, stopping her from grabbing it and pulling the door open to scream for help. "What was Jarod looking for, on the system?" she asked sweetly, an underlying menace making her voice that little bit... unbelievable. "Files on what? Did he find them?"

Emily kept her expression even, touching up her mascara in the mirror, and shrugged. "I'm not a computer whiz. What would I know? He said a load of stuff that just sailed right over my head, I nodded and smiled - the supportive sister - I wore this skimpy dress, I assumed that was all I had to do. Took my pills to stop myself from asking too many annoying, reporter-ish questions. Shit, why don't you ask me something I can answer, woman!"

Parker scowled, spat "Fuck you!", and slammed the door on her way out. Loudly.

Emily stayed in the toilet until the door had stopped shaking, and then some, and finally put her mascara away. How long was she supposed to keep up this pretence, exactly? Because she didn't like it. Not fuckin' at all.

She left the small room and walked back to where everyone was sitting, noting that Parker was sitting with no-one, alone, and took a seat beside Lyle, who might have actually been thinking; either that, or scheming. He had that sort of look on his face.

It didn't really suit him, Emily thought. "Surprise!" she chimed, in a girly tone.

"And yet, curiously, I find myself unsurprised,' Lyle said, frowning at something that wasn't her. "Miranda! You seemed so fond of super-secret undercover missions earlier, I felt for sure you'd have already have staged a daring mid-air escape."

Emily looked away from him, to Miss Parker and Broots and Karaan. No-one was looking at her. Or, for that matter, him. "You're insane. You're really fucking insane. I can tell you that honestly, I think you're insane."

"Wow," he replied, glancing at her, "I'm sure it took you much deliberation to come to that conclusion, too, Mari-ann."

"Miranda!" she spat, way fucking unimpressed that he'd try to destabilise her cover suddenly, on a whim.

He nodded, indicating that she take notice to her left.

She turned to her left.

A woman stood in the aisle. Wearing a white lab coat.

"Please tell me aliens are real and they... sort of... zapped her here," she said.

"Aliens? I don't know. I think you should wake up now, just in case the warp drive's malfunctioned and they're late."

She turned back to look at him with wide eyes. "What?"

"Wake up," he told her quietly.

* * *

Emily's eyes snapped open, and immediately, she snapped them shut again. God, why did it hurt so much to open her eyes? She tried opening them again, and saw that she was in a white room. At least, it was very, very white, from what she could tell. Something, was very, very white. The room, the light. She tried again. Both. It was both. The room, and the light. And-

Her eyes flew open, in spite of the pain, and she screamed. There was a needle in her arm!

It was lucky, then, that someone had just then placed a hand over her mouth, just in time.

She blinked, and he took his hand away from her mouth. "They were testing you. For an anomaly. They know who I am already. Don't know you. Who are you? Someone new, someone _exciting_. You'll live."

Emily peeked past Lyle, to the woman who'd been standing outside her door, and saw that she'd gone.

"How did I get here?" she asked in her best _I'm not going to scream or anything_ voice.

"That wasn't the plan?"

She struggled to sit up, wincing when she was reminded of the needle in her arm. "What-" Her throat was too dry, it made her voice... not right. Raspy. "What are you talking about?"

"Your- your brother needed a way in here. He brought you. You're supposed to be sleeping, in a coma. You're his subject."

She scowled, glaring horribly at him. "You-! Why did you wake me up, then, idiot?"

"Jarod had to leave you here. They discovered him. Had to come, though. For your brother's sake. The younger one. The clone. Had to get hold of his medical records, files. He's sick. How's your memory coming?"

Emily's glare had turned into a frown. M- Mo was sick. That was right. Her little brother was sick, possibly dying. She'd- she'd volunteered to do anything she could to save him. It didn't matter what happened to her, she'd said, as long as Jarod could help him, save _him_. (In a way, maybe she thought of him a little as her own child, her own son. She didn't imagine, she'd never imagined she'd have the time, or the safety, to start a family of her own.)

"Never you mind, though, tinsel. I have a plan. They don't call me-" He sighed. "Well, now that you're up and about, and looking lively again, I suggest we- Smile and make like you're really happy to see me," he told her suddenly, seriously.

Mari-ann stepped into the room, watching them both with surveying eyes.

Emily forced a smile onto her face.

"I thought I'd never see you again," Lyle said. "You mustn't be so childish, little sister. You're grown up, now. I'm so glad the doctors and nurses here took such good care of you." He glanced at Mari-ann. "Thank you."

The woman nodded, not very warmly.

"I- I hope I wasn't too much trouble," Emily said, her voice still too quiet.

"I'll bring you something to drink, Miss," Mari-ann said.

Emily smiled at her. "Thank you," she said quietly. To Lyle, she said, "You don't have a little sister! They'll know that!"

"You're Martha's daughter. My adoptive mother's daughter. They can mind their own business."

She almost laughed. In fact, she tried, but it didn't work out as she'd planned. And it hurt. "Martha's daughter?" she whispered, amused, and coughed.

He patted her hair. "Norma," he replied.

"Don't touch me," she growled, in her best _I fucking mean it!_ growl, even if it killed her to do so.

"Thanks," Lyle said, when Mari-ann had returned, a cup of water in hand.

* * *

"You said they were testing me?" Emily asked, much later. They were sitting in a car, waiting for the traffic to move. She was wearing _real_ clothes again. Something she'd imagine Martha might have chosen for her daughter, Norma, thirty or so years ago, if she'd had a daughter. Something not at all revealing, but good country girl, and very girly girl, even so. "Did they find anything?"

"Nothing," he replied blandly. "Do you mind doing me a favour and moving. At all, today. Figures, doesn't it."

"Then I don't-"

He shook his head. "We- we altered the results."

"You mean swapped them with someone else's!" she cried, appalled.

"No, I mean- No! What is it with you lot! Can't you just- talk... to someone else. Yourself. Or... some pony-shaped cloud, or something."

Emily blinked. "What? Where are you taking me?"

He sighed. "I was thinking... to lunch. What do you think, Norma?" He glanced over at her.

"No. I want out. I demand that you let me go this instant."

"Am I holding you down?"

She scowled.

"Look, Russell, why don't you have something to eat first? Then you can..." he waved a hand, "whatever. Call your magic fairy wagon pumpkin thing for all I care, and disappear into the... et cetera, et cetera, and so on, and so on; you know the rest."

Emily looked away from him, to the side window, and glared out at the street, and the people walking by on the sidewalk. What were they all so... _nonchalant_ about? "Is there anything I need to know about? Anything they might have taken without my permission, that I might have concern to worry over?"

"Nothing," he repeated, in that same almost _I couldn't really care_ voice as before, _I'd rather be elsewhere_ voice.

"Nothing?" she demanded, glaring fiercely, now, at the window glass, and grit her teeth.

"Nothing," he said again.

She tore her gaze away from the side window, to peruse the traffic banked up ahead of them, the same as him. (Nothing No. 3 hadn't been quite the same as Nothing No. 1 and 2.) "What are you thinking?" she said, annoyed at the stiffness of her tone, listening to herself.

"Nothing."

What a load of bullshit! He couldn't even have the decency to sound live he gave a shit, couldn't be bloody serious with her! She turned on him with wide, staring eyes. "Maybe you don't get it, but I-"

"I was thinking you had nice hair," he said calmly. "You have nice hair. Creepy psycho _enough_ for you, _Emily_?" He met her eyes.

"I do have nice hair," she said, just like that, not fussed or anything. Logically, she told herself, this was because freaking out would only make his day. Yes, that was it. And she'd always been... almost always been... happy with her hair. "It's..."

"Soft," he filled in, reaching over to touch her hair.

She refrained from a look that plainly said _Yeah, my skin _is_ crawling, thank you very _not_!_ and took his hand from her hair. She didn't care if he was having some kind of mid-life crisis or what - he had no right... being all creepy with her. "Just, watch the road," she said, directing her gaze ahead of her in the hopes that he'd do the same.

He sighed, and wound down the window, seeing that the traffic was going nowhere. "Do you want the window... open?"

"I don't mind, either way," she said, still looking ahead of her, out the windscreen. "You choose."

* * *

The car was parked by the side of the service station, in the space allotted for cars to park, along with a whole heap other cars in varying colours, makes and models. Emily had counted them all - fourteen times.

The diner was too stuffy, that was the problem. If someone would just open a window- But it was the weather, too. Not hospital weather, for sure. Not secret ward for conducting evil experiments on people weather, either.

She coughed and reached for her mug of coffee. She'd considered water, but she realised she'd missed coffee more. Water was... and coffee wasn't. She could have water anytime. So she... she wanted coffee. She hadn't got around to asking how Jarod was. She supposed she still had that to ask. Maybe the coffee would help her find the right words. Or how Geronimo was. (Not that Lyle would know, really.)

"They just let us walk out of there, huh? Just like that?"

"Just like that."

She frowned. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." He nodded to the waitress. "Just in time, too, honey. My kid sister, she's starvin'. She don't talk so nice when she ain't had somethin' ta eat a while. Gets kinda... grumpy, would ya say."

Emily reached for her plate and set it down in front of her, rolling her eyes to the top of her head and shaking her head to herself and the waitress. Ignoring him was totally okay. Just walk away.

"Thanks again, honey."

"Stop trying to butter her up," Emily told him. "She knows you're a lyin', cheatin' no-good loser, no good for nuttin'. She sure knows it real well when you're actin' all, _Oh I'm cool_, and _Aren't you pretty nice? Ha, ha, pretty and nice, I reckon_. I came here to eat, not puke up all over you."

He sighed. "Eat then. Who's stoppin' you. I ain't. Jeez, I can't even talk to someone with you around."

"No, you cain't!" she told him, in her best hick accent, and reached for a serviette from the holder in the centre of the table. "I see you're real busy eatin' your meal, too."

"Nope. I'm thinkin' this was a real bad idea. You, me, talkin'. What in the Hell's that about, you think? I gone insane, or what? Even more insane? Me, I'll run with that. You, you-" He pointed to the door. "You run that way. And you stay away. Don't come back. Go get yourself a ride with one o' them nice folks on the road, or wherever the Hell you think you can! _Don't_ come back. But, sure, you go on and eat your- you eat your... thing first."

She laughed into her food. Whatever that was about! Not that she gave two hoots, either. "Are you eating that piece of bread, or can I have it?"

"Knock yourself out," he replied, pushing his plate across the table so she could take the piece of bread. "Not... not literally."

She grabbed the piece of bread and grinned. "Oh, I was plannin' on that next!"

He looked away from her, putting his plate back down where it had been before.

She hummed something for a second, and reached for her cup of coffee. "Mmm. Can we get dessert, after?"

He frowned, and looked back at the serious expression on her face: _Well? Well?_ "You just think about eating that first," he told her.

She laughed. "Please! I can eat this! I could eat three of _this_! And still fit in dessert! You should have seen Jarod's eyes - the first time he saw me eat. He was like, _Where is that all going?_ I had to practically hold myself back from..." She widened her eyes, "choking. I was in stitches, inside. Apparently I'm the... the strange one out of the family. I'm the greedy one. Don't leave me alone in a room with food. There won't be nothin' left when you come back. Just me, with an innocent look on my face. I'll swear black and blue them aliens done gone and abducted it. I will!"

He made a face. "Are you actually going to eat that, or prattle on about... _you_ all day?"

She narrowed her eyes, nodding at him. "You're just mad that waitress didn't fall for your charms. Mmm." She nodded again. "I'd feel real bad for you. If you were human."

"Oh thank you," he muttered, and went back to staring out the window and ignoring her. The girl who stole people's bread, even if she _had_ asked for it, and he _had_ given it to her. It was just because of those eyes, because they went so well with her hair; they were far too matching for their own good. She just thought she was so good, everyone would... would just fall at her feet and there she'd be, every time, smiling because she'd got her own way, once again, such was the dark and evil power of her-

_Stop thinking about- _it_!_ he told himself wordlessly, and forced himself not to look at her, not even a tiny, little bit. She wasn't going to win.

And maybe, maybe (a small, tiny, wee, tiny bit, in a far-off, distant land), he might have conceded that there might have been something wrong with him, at that moment, but not here, not now, not in this too-stuffy diner. That it wasn't her at all. It wasn't her, but him.

But maybe, no, _surely_, it was this Godforsaken weather! This stupid weather that made it difficult to breathe when you actually wanted to breathe, and made you sleepy, no matter how much coffee or caffeinated soft drink you drank. And damn that weather! Damn it to whence it came from!

He couldn't- No, he just couldn't think straight. He'd be right when he woke up a bit, when the weather eased off, a bit. He'd be right, just as soon as he decided he would be.

And that would be now.

* * *

Emily sat by the roadside, her boots getting dustier with every car that flew by, watching the cars and humming her favourite song. She wasn't really waiting for someone to stop, she was trying to remember something Jarod had told her once. How to contact him, if she ever needed to. She couldn't quite remember yet, but it wasn't far off. She just knew it!

"Don't- don't sit there. You'll get yourself run over, or arrested, or something."

Emily pretended she hadn't heard anything; no-one had just been talkin' to her.

"You!"

"No," she said finally, "my name starts with 'e', and I'm a Sagittarius." She sighed, and stood up, brushing the back of her pants down with her hands. "Weren't you... leavin'?"

He rolled his eyes. "And who's Jarod gonna blame if you end up dead of your own... eccentricity."

"Stupidity, don't you mean," she said. "If I were dead, I don't think I'd care much as to what Jarod did or did not think. I don't think I'd care much as to anything at all. Why don't you go on and get outta here. I'll be leavin' too, in my own good time, when I'm well an' ready. An' don't you try an' follow me to find out where my brother is, either, cos I will know, and I won't be happy. I might be small, and hungry, but that's not all I am! I won't let you play that game with me twice!"

He shrugged. "I was going to offer you a lift to the next town, but I see you're all set."

"Damn right I am!" she snapped, and waved. "Ain't it about time you were. Leaving, I mean!"

"I'm leaving."

"And you better be!" she told him, pointing a finger at him. He hadn't said anything about Jarod not being in any position to cast blame onto anyone else, so she figured that was a good sign. She'd take it as one, anyway.

"I'll buy you an ice-cream, if you let me take you to the next town."

She shook her head. "You are so desperate!"

"I'm not."

She laughed. Oh yes he was.

* * *

As he'd expected, she'd had to wind the window down like some little kid whose mom or dad was always telling her off for doing so, (don't let the dog- and don't you, either, young lady!) and she went right on doing it anyway. She'd had to put on the radio, and find a station she liked (halfway), and pretend she was contestant number Really Annoying But Strangely Persistent And Without Shame on _American Idol_. And she'd had to take forever to eat her ice-cream so it melted and got on her hand and on her clothes (and not on the car seat, thank you, by goodness).

And now, she just couldn't refrain from staring at him and saying, "Do you have a serviette? Yucky, hand." She held up her hand, wiggling her fingers. "Yucky. Ew. Must stop."

He glared in the direction of the glove compartment. "Check in there."

She smiled and thought about it for a second or two - No, not the best idea. Actually, she'd just use her other hand. The not mucky, ice-creamy hand - and bent over to peer into the glove box. "Thaaanks," she said, and frowned, sighing. Tissues, awesome. But... "It needs biscuits. And... dried fruit. Dates. Sultanas. And... band aids!" She straightened up abruptly and turned to look at him. "Do you have band aids?"

"Do you need one?" he asked, watching the road still.

"No." She gasped. "O! You don't! You totally need to get some."

"Why's that? Because it's the only way I'm going to get you to shut up?"

She laughed. "No. I can shut up. I'm not always," she tilted her head from side to side, rolling her eyes to the top of her head, gesturing talking marks with her fingers, "_Blab, blab, blab_, you know. I can... zip it!" She nodded. "I think I ate too much. I'm sleepy."

"Strange. Do you often talk in your sleep?" he asked.

"Shut up. I'm getting out at the next town. Mmm. I can... Find myself a nice, comfy bridge for the night perfectly well on my own, thank you but no thank you!"

"That does sound particularly nice and comfy," he agreed.

"Shut up."

"I am."

She wound the window back up and leant her head against the glass, vaguely staring out at the scenery rushing past blurrily. The glass was cold, sort of, which was nice, sort of. "So how come they sent you to get me, and how come you're letting me go?" she asked, finally.

"I guess it's just your lucky day," he replied.

She laughed. "What are you saying? Every day is my lucky day! I'm alive! That's sorta lucky, right?"

"Why wouldn't you be alive? Compared to anyone else? Why not you?"

She sat up and turned to look at him. "You, wanted me dead," she told him, in a sort of drifting-off voice.

"I want a lot of things, like all of us, I expect. Sometimes, we want too much. Or we want things we don't need, just for the sake of wanting them, new things, fashionable things, things other people have, things people say you should want to have, even if you don't know yourself what to think about those things. And if we don't get those things, it's all just very unfair. But that's not the same sort of thing. We can't all have what we want, can we?"

She rubbed her face. "You should have eaten your food yourself; you shouldn't have let me eat it. I was only trying to annoy you, you know. It got boring after a while, when you didn't get that look like _You're so annoying, plus, you know what, you're even sort of criminal! It's called _stealing_!_ I would have let you have it back, but then I thought, well, I wasn't going to make myself look silly because of you. Hmm. Now I feel ick. You know what I'm like. I told you!" She sighed and shifted over in her chair, closer to the window. "You go on, leave the radio on if you feel like it; I'm gonna sleep, if that's okay. I'm sleepy." She shut her eyes.

He leant over and switched the radio off. He could really see her sleeping under a bridge. Sure. She'd get bored or lonely and start talking to herself, and maybe she'd stay up half the night just talking to herself, and, by then, the cops would come around and ask her to move on, thanks. Then what bridge would she be sleeping under?

"I did want you dead," he agreed.


	2. Chapter 2

With the drugs Jarod had given her, and all the tests they'd run on her, it was little wonder she'd been tired. But she was tired, too, because she'd spent so much time sleeping. It wasn't so much that she was tired, but lacking energy. Though it had made her sleepy, it was good she'd eaten something, he thought.

They'd driven quite a long way, he thought, before it started to get dark. She hadn't woken yet, so he'd let her sleep. He'd been kind of surprised that he hadn't reacted as badly to her as he'd thought he might. He didn't know if it was just some game his body was playing, that, later, he'd suddenly feel it. Or perhaps he'd underestimated her resilience. She was nine years younger than him, he reminded himself. Though no longer a child, she still wasn't doing bad.

It made him wonder about the clone, about what might be wrong with him; why he was sick. He couldn't feel that; she must have been blocking him somehow. (Though he'd changed the test results, he didn't need a test to tell him she'd inherited the anomaly, the same as her brothers. She wasn't a Perceptive, nor a Pretender; she wasn't a Healer or a Reaper, so, he supposed, she might have been a Mediator. It would explain things, he supposed. Even if she wasn't trained.)

By the time he stopped, the weather had cooled a little - it may have been due to the change in geography, of course, as well as the time that had passed - but it was still quite warm. He decided it would be best if he didn't wake her. In the morning, she'd feel a lot better; a lot more like finding her way back to her family, where she belonged. (The Prophecy had never concerned her, only her brother. She wasn't really a part of their world. She'd unwittingly invited herself into their world along with all of the troubles that came along with the territory, but she didn't belong there, really. She belonged somewhere else, somewhere safe. She should have been happy, had herself a family, some kids, a husband. Maybe, after this, she'd give it some thought.)

But first, he was hoping he'd be able to get something from her on Gem's condition. The kid shouldn't have been sick. That wasn't right. Was it really something related to the fact he was a clone, or something else? As Jarod's clone, he couldn't chance anything happening to the kid, in case he was tied in with the Prophecy or some sort. It wouldn't do, just yet, to destabilise those who drew their power from others' belief in the Prophecy. If that happened, who knew how they'd react; who knew the measures they'd resort to, or who they'd take for their little fun and games.

Opening the car door, he managed to get the girl out of the car without waking her, he even got her up those silly stairs. Why hadn't he thought of that before, when he'd been busy getting the room? Then came the problem of opening the door. _To look at you now, they'd really believe you a Pretender_, he thought sarcastically. _Where's your foresight? And don't you go blaming that on the weather!_

He refrained from shaking his head at his idiocy and sat her down on the walkway, leaning against the wall, to open the door. There. That hadn't been so hard. At least he'd learnt something, he considered. When she slept, she sure slept. Sure, she was exhausted. He had to take that into account, too. And she'd eaten all that food for lunch.

He lay her down on the bed closest to the bathroom, (farthest from the door, and the light of the window), and sat down on the edge of the mattress to gather his thoughts. Did he have to worry about tracking devices, things like that? He took her shoes off - shoes didn't belong on the bed - and gave himself some time to decide what to do. It created a problem, her ability in blocking. Even now, sleeping, he couldn't get any more off her than he'd been able to when he'd tried before. This was a problem. A problem because a company like that would surely have employed a couple of Perceptives. And any decent Perceptive would know how precious Mediators were, in the right hands.

They weren't getting her back.

He bet Jarod didn't even know how special his little sister was. (Was it a defensive mechanism, perhaps?) Not that that was the point, whether Jarod (or anyone else) knew or not. She wasn't a toy, she was a person. And she wasn't going to be anyone's toy. Not as long as he was alive. He'd tried to kill her once before, and he'd killed her brother, Kyle, a valuable company asset, and a piece of her family she'd never got the chance to know.

She deserved the chance to live like other people, and care for people; not to always be second-guessing herself, worrying, _If I involve myself in their lives, how long are they going to have to live?_

He brushed her hair out of her face - she wouldn't want that in her mouth - and stood up to see about the airconditioning. He didn't fancy opening the windows when the screen was as old and worn as it was; bugs didn't belong in people's homes (or motel rooms).

When he'd put on the airconditioning, he walked back to the bed and sat down on the edge, placing a hand over hers. Tiny, little hands, but warm. He closed his eyes. He couldn't glean anything from her Empathically, but he still had other avenues.

He wiped the blood from his nose with a hand, and stood up. No, she wasn't carrying any tracking devices.

He went to the sink in the kitchenette and washed the blood off his hand, and filled two glasses of water, one to set on the night stand beside her bed. She'd probably ignore it when she woke and realised she wasn't where she'd been before, but, in case she didn't, it would be there, waiting.

That done, he sat down on the other bed - the one closest the door - and drank his glass of water. Next time he went by a pharmacy, he decided, he'd get some electrolyte drink, or that powdered stuff you could add to water.

He stood up, took his glass back to the sink, and went back to get her glass. He poured the water out on an unhappy-looking plant outside, and went back to the car to look around for some coins for the vending machine. Bottled water, through the processing processes, can't have had any more chemicals than tap water, which was filled with them to keep people from dying of waterborne diseases and other assorted reasons, and he had a feeling he'd much prefer seeing her with a healthy shine to her complexion than an icky one. She didn't do icky especially well. It made her cranky, and his head hurt.

After he'd got the bottled water, he sat down to think about if he was going to go out for dinner, or if he'd just have a few glucose lollies and stay to watch the girl. If they weren't tracking her by technological or Empathic means, perhaps they were tracking him.

Sighing, he decided he couldn't afford to sleep. He was a Mediator, he wasn't her; he didn't know how well he'd be able to block any efforts at tracking him in his sleep. Lately, his Empathy had been acting up, among other things. He wasn't taking any chances.

The room was loud, louder than the old car had been (which was partly the reason he'd chosen it), but, tonight, he didn't want to hear it... any of it... and he didn't have to. He counted himself lucky for that, at least. He closed his eyes and concentrated on her breathing, on the calm, steady beat of her heart. (Mel was too far away, tonight, and he could hardly feel her at all. It troubled him, but he let it go. What choice did he have? Mel would still be able to feel him; that wouldn't have changed.)

_Goodnight, baby_, he thought silently. She wouldn't hear him, but it was the thought that count, right?

Where he couldn't feel Mel, there was the girl, asleep, just a few steps away. Peaceful.

.

Charles ran a hand over his hair. They'd not yet told Margaret that they'd lost Emily, that Jarod had left her behind - no choice - and he was dreading that conversation. _He_ didn't want his little girl to be there anymore than he knew Jarod did, either, but they weren't in any position to take those guys on.

Jarod, was freaking out. He hadn't had the chance to get what he'd needed, and he'd had to leave Em behind. Three weeks ago, when he'd had to leave her, he'd refused to sleep for a whole week. It hadn't done him any favours.

Now, Charles had a decision. Whether to tell Margaret the truth or not.

.

At about four in the morning, yeah, the digital clock said 4:02, Lyle got up for a glass of water and decided to have some more lollies. He put one of the sweets on the night stand, whenever he had one, so he wouldn't eat the whole packet.

He felt upset at himself, upset at not being able to feel Mel. It made him uncomfortable. He didn't feel normal, like himself, without Mel. He felt much more like an imposter in someone else's body, like an alien invader, from one of countless movies on the subject. He just felt wrong.

_It's okay, it's okay_, he told himself. _She's fine. You're fine._

He leant over to open the drawer and dropped the sweets into the drawer and closed it. They weren't a comfort food, or an _I'm bored_ or _Stuff sucks_ food, and he'd had more than enough already. (He should have eaten something, he knew that, but he hadn't wanted to leave the kid, nor wake her, in case she didn't react the way he expected.)

.

Emily slowly awoke, the peaceful dream evaporating, and stared at the night stand beside the bed. She was lying in bed? She sat up, reaching for the bottle of water, and looked around her, unscrewing the cap. Morning. Daylight. She took a sip of water and stood up. The water tasted good, even if it wasn't chilled. Across the room, and airconditioner was running. The noise of it was noticeable.

She walked over to the bed next to hers and picked a colourful jelly bean up off the night stand. It was probably one of those natural colour ones, she guessed; the colour was bright, but not lurid. Whatever was in it, it tasted like a sweet should and she decided she liked it. She frowned when her eyes caught on the bracelet on Lyle's wrist. He really had one of those, did he? (How strange.)

Not really thinking about it, she reached a hand to touch his arm, glancing quickly at the digital readout on the radio clock. _8:37_, it said.

"I'm going for a run," she said. "You're welcome to come." With no idea why she'd said it, she gave his arm a shake, and felt a little less stupid (and pointless). She argued with herself that she should have been leaving whilst she had the chance, or, at the very least, she shouldn't have been acting as though he was just some person, and not that person who'd tried to kill her (and had killed her brother). She should have been angry and mad and... _No_, she countered mentally, _then you'd only end up making him mad, which is what you don't want. If he can make nice, you make nice back. When the time's right, make your move then. Not before. Bide your time._

That was what she had to do, bide her time, figure out what he wanted from her. Why he'd gotten her out of that place, and what he wanted in return. Until she knew the full story, there was no reason for her to be planning her escape, especially if it would only end up playing into his little game, if, indeed, he had a little game and they were both now players in it.

She shook his arm again. Strange person, strange way to sleep on a bed, sitting up. Seeing that that wasn't working, she leant to switch the radio on; a Chynna Phillips song started blaring through the room. She didn't turn the sound down.

"Turn it off, Sue," he said quietly.

"I'm going for a run," Emily repeated, ignoring the impulse to tell him she wasn't Sue, and ask who this Sue person was.

Lyle stared at her blearily. "Why?"

Stupid question. "To keep fit, I guess," she replied, and walked to the window, looking out at the street scape. Trees, great. She smiled, geared up for a run, and went to look for her shoes. There. She picked them up off the carpet and sat down on her bed to undo her laces and put her shoes back on, made sure she'd done her laces tight enough. "Couldn't find a bridge?" she commented, straightened up again.

"No," he said, walking to the kitchenette.

"Get me one," Emily called after him, even if she didn't know what he was going to get, or what he was going out of the room for. She hoped he was going to make coffee. She really wanted a coffee, now that she'd started thinking about coffee. She also would really have liked to have been able to find out how Jarod was, how her little brother, Mo, was, but that was something else. That, she had to keep to herself for now. It was enough that Lyle knew why she and Jarod had travelled to that place in the first place; far more than enough. It irked her; made her edgy. Major league. Her business was her own, no-one else's.

.

"What's wrong with the kid?" Lyle asked, when she walked in.

She moved to the tap to fill her empty bottle and didn't answer his question. Why the fuck did he want to know, anyway? To gloat? For his evil, little pal-slash-master, Raines? Fuck him, and fuck Raines, too! "So are you coming?" she pressed, in her best casual as anything voice.

"For a run? I don't think so."

She rolled her eyes, turning away from the sink. "I'd like you to. I don't often have someone to run with. I used to run with my friend, in my teens." She was being friendly on purpose, saying this shit on purpose; all with a purpose. She wanted him to think she'd bought into his friendly routine, she wanted him to think she suspected nothing more sinister than the fact that their motel room didn't have ground coffee, only instant.

He put a hand to his head.

She didn't care why he did, but she walked over and placed a hand on his forehead. "You're fine. Come running with me. Don't be a mope."

He pushed her hand away.

What was he playing now? The sympathy card? I've got a headache. Some _My master said I should dispense of you permanently, but my conscience doesn't agree_ bullshit? She wanted to laugh, it was that fucking hilarious, and that fucking stupid. She didn't, though, because that would have been even more stupid. She grabbed his hand. "Come with me." She wasn't insistent, she just made sure he knew the offer was out there.

"Tell me about the clone."

"Why do you care?"

He shook his head. "I don't. Humour me."

She let go of his hand. _Lair!_ She really wanted to smack him over the face and laugh. "He has a degenerative disease of some form. Jarod wouldn't tell me more; just that. I guess he was worried I'd... I don't know, do something. Thoughtless, rash, reporter-ish."

He crossed to the sideboard and held out a cup for her to take. "D'you want a coffee?"

She took the cup and sat down at the table, quiet. Fuck him! He hadn't even bitten on the reporter comment, and she though he would, at least, at that. Come up with some, _You shouldn't talk yourself down_ shit she could pretend had really touched her, blah, blah, blah... It was a work in progress.

In the back of her mind, there was more truth to her feelings that she was willing to admit. She did feel powerless, on the verge of hopelessness. If Jarod couldn't help Mo... Well, she didn't want to think about that.

She sipped the cheap, trashy coffee and forced herself to concentrate on waking up, on the run she'd shortly being taking, even on the crappy coffee. Anything but her sick little brother.

.

It was calm, at the very least, in that little reserve. And it was little. Not much of anything, really. But quiet, relaxing. She was glad of it, of the feel of air in her lungs minus the couple handfuls of pollution. She'd never liked running in cities much, not right by the road, too much gunk that got in her lungs, made her feel woozy, gave her a headache. So, out here, in amongst the trees and shrubs and other green things, with twigs and stones underfoot and not just concrete or tar or gravel, she was happy. Happier. There wasn't all of the racket of the city, either, of the laneways of cars and factories. It made a nice change.

She did appreciate it. Despite the situation, she could relax a bit.

"You never said why you're helping me," she said, as they were coming up to a picnic area and her mind raced in an attempt to recall the last time she'd been on a picnic with anyone, anyone at all.

"Maybe I'm not, really," he replied. "Maybe I'm just using you to get to Jarod."

She stopped and took some deep breaths. Maybe you are, lunatic. "Not this again."

"It makes sense, to me. Okay, I'll let you in on something. Parker and I, we have this... thing, right. Whichever of us brings Jarod back in first, wins. Winner gets to live. I think I want to win. Wouldn't you?"

Emily shook her head, walking over to one of the picnic tables and sitting down. Her legs must have been more tired that she'd thought, because they didn't seem to mind taking a break. "That's fucking stupid."

He smiled. "Yeah. I guess."

She sighed. What, he thought she didn't swear. What an idiot! "And if you don't win?" she asked, to give him a chance. Maybe he'd say something she could pretend was, like, really human and touching. She wasn't going to believe all of this was just about Geronimo. He'd never lived up to Jarod's hype, anyhow, as far as she'd heard. They'd much rather have had Jar back. So what was the deal?

She needed to know.

"I think the important question is, what are you going to do next?" he asked, diverting the subject.

She snickered, and nodded. Make like she'd expected an honest answer. _Yeah, sure, change the subject._ "Next: we go back." She pointed back the way they'd come, smiling.

"I'm walking, tah," he told her. "You go ahead and run, if you want. You're obviously feeling better. You're lucky. It looks like there was no permanent, lasting damage. Go. Run. I'll get there eventually."

She made a face. Oh, so he could ring the rest of his team, apprise them of his progress! "There's nothing wrong with you. You're just being mean because you can, and I brought your sister up."

"When was that?"

She smacked his arm. "I'm not laughing. You remember."

"I guess so. Race ya?"

She narrowed her eyes in calculation. Why was he suddenly suggesting they race back to the motel? "Bring it on!"

.

She walked up to the stairs, bending over to catch her breath, and shot him a glare for smiling at her. Creep. Smug creep.

"What took you?" he asked, handing her a bottle of water.

She sat down on the step beside him heavily, taking the water. He might have done something to the water, she supposed, but the seal was still on it; not that that said much, really. Not that she was going to raise him suspicions by turning it down, either. She still wanted him to think she wasn't on to him; she was playing along. "Oh, you know, I was just admiring the scenery."

"Sure, sure."

She nodded, opening the bottle and taking a sip. Still cold. He can't have been waiting long, in that case. (Or he'd put it in the fridge.) "Don't look so smiley, I've got a deadly weapon in my hands."

He laughed.

"Child!" She took another sip of her water and put the cap back on. Without warning, she put her hand out and placed it on his chest, feeling his heartbeat. For a split second, she'd really been hoping it would freak him out and he'd break his composure and slap her hand away. No such thing happened; she felt disappointed, slightly. She grinned. "That is _so bad_!"

In reply, he reached over and rested his own hand over her heart. That, _freaked her out!_ "I don't believe it - you actually have a heart!"

Fucking asshole! She laughed. "Strange, that, don't you think?" she came back, her animosity carefully hidden, kept out of her voice. "I thought for sure your lot would have taken it for their evil experiments. But there it is!"

"Strange," he agreed.

She sighed.

.

Emily's voice floated over across the gravel yard, playfully. "You cheated. You're a cheater. I can't prove it, but I know it."

"But no proof, huh? Pity."

"Pity," she agreed. "Guess who's buying breakfast, big brother?" she chimed cheerfully, taking her hand from his chest and balling it up into a fist to punch him in the arm.

"American Express."

She laughed. "Shut up!"

"You said I should guess," he defended.

"It was a rhetorical question!" she told him, with wide eyes.

"Rhetorical question." He shook his head.

She put a hand over her mouth, stifling a laugh. "You're still buying breakfast," she said, when she'd stopped laughing.

"Yeah." He stood up.

She jumped to her feet beside him, holding her water bottle. "Hustle!" she told him. "You're the one with the key."

"It's open," he replied.

"You left it open!" she cried, racing up the stairs as fast as her tired legs would let her.

"Why are you running?" he called after her.

She stopped at the door and spun around, jumping up and down, her hand resting on the door. "Oh yeah! Who's the winner!" So she was playing up her impressionability, just a little; playing on the dramatics. It didn't bother her in the slightest. If it would win her the game, she had no shame. He wasn't as good as he thought; he never had been.

He shook his head. "The door's open. Obviously, it wasn't the aliens who did it. I think that means you lose, cos, as you pointed out earlier, _I_ have the key!"

"Oh my God!" she stated in mock alarm. "Burglars!"

"Yeah sure."

"You're mean!" she shouted, and grabbed the door, disappearing inside before she shut it after her.

.

Lyle sat down on the end of the bed, listening to the sound of the exhaust fan in the other room, and the running water - the wiring in the walls made it hard to think, hurt his head too much - and repressed a sigh.

He lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Why was he so tired? It was impossible; all he felt like doing was sleeping. The girl was up and about, as sprightly as anything, and here he was, feeling like he was half dead already.

Didn't he have shit to do? Stuff to find out? Couldn't that just be enough, for the time being.

.

Emily stepped out of the bathroom, tucking a corner of the towel into the rest so it would stay tight around her, and pushed a clump of wet hair off her shoulder, wondering where she'd be able to get some half decent hair bands cheaply, the ones where the elastics didn't come apart from their bindings the first time you used them, or pull out from their metal fixing that held the two ends together.

Maybe a gas station or a drugstore?

Reaching the bedroom, she reached for the handle and opened the door, closing it behind her again and turning back towards the centre of the room before she remembered, shit, she didn't have any other clothes than the ones she'd been wearing, the country bumpkin shit Lyle had bought for her.

She looked up just in time to notice Lyle standing too close and back sharply into the door she'd shut just moments before. He was staring at her like there was something wrong with him, and her eyes widened. That was very possible. Very, very possible.

"None of my special little powers work with you," he said, perfectly okay with invading her personal space like that. "What've I got to do?"

"Step back," she told him, fighting not to grit her teeth.

He tossed his head. "No. That won't work."

"Get out of my face!" she spat.

"Why are you blocking my Voices?" he asked. "Don't you want me to help you find out what's wrong with your annoying brother's _other half_?"

She glared at him fiercely, narrowing her eyes meanly. As meanly as she knew how, anyway.

He laughed. "Maybe you _want_ him to die. Unnatural thing, if you ask me! Believe you me, I understand your sentiment perfectly."

She slapped him. She didn't really mean to - it such an idiotic, impulsive thing to do - but she couldn't really take it back once she had; so she just stood very still.

"Had your fun, have you, you stupid little cow!" he hissed, with wide, mad eyes. "Do that again and I'll hit you back."

She stood there, expecting something more, after that, but he just turned away and walked off. She didn't know whether to be glad or not.

.

When she came outside, he was sitting on the step, near the bottom of the stairs, staring into the distance.

She slipped past him and headed for the car, ignoring him when he shot up and ran to catch her up. When he grabbed her arm and pulled her around to face him, she didn't bother faking surprise. She didn't even bother covering up the look in her eyes that said, _You're a bastard!_

"Where are you off to?" he asked, holding onto her wrist.

"Anywhere!" she snapped, but only ended up scolding herself for it almost immediately. Oh, wasn't she just a pillar of strength, now! "Let go of my arm!" she said firmly.

He dropped her wrist. After a while, he said, "I apologise, if I frightened you. But you weren't very nice, either."

"Fuck you," she replied plainly. When he didn't bite, she smiled. She was pissed off. "You don't have the guts to hit me back!" she said in a low voice, her eyes shining. "But go on, I give you permission. I won't stop you. Be honest for once, admit what you're really like." She stepped closer and whispered, "_I dare you!_"

With a thud, he backed her into the side of a car, hands tight around her upper arms. She glared at him, no longer smiling.

"You are that stupid, aren't you!" he breathed. "Just another stupid little girl who thinks she's pretty clever, thank you very much, and all the rest of us are fools in comparison!"

"I see you," she hissed, a slow smiling turning her mouth. Her fingers started to feel tingly.

He closed his eyes. "I don't want to hit you. I understand. I really do. I shouldn't have called you out like that; it was rude. I had no business pretending to know your inner feelings." He snapped his eyes open. "Don't try to pretend you know mine! You don't know me!"

He released her arms, stepping back from her. "One more thing," he added, his voice turning from light and conversational to deadly serious in a heartbeat, "don't tempt me!"

She licked her lip and burst into ridiculous laughter. It was true, a small part of her was fucking _freaked out_, but a bigger part of her said, _Fuck him!_, a bigger part of her wasn't willing to buy into his little scare tactics, no matter how utterly stupid it was to defy them.

She could almost feel the little something snapping in his reserve, as much as she could see it, in his eyes, and it was almost too easy, almost too logical a conclusion, for her to step forward and smack a palm against his chest and push him backward into the information board, with the dumb little arrow declaring, "You are here" - yes, I am; funny, that - and kiss him.

If he truly wanted her on side, then he'd have to start by making a few, little sacrifices, like being on her side back. She wasn't his type, she knew _that_, but neither had Brigitte been. In any case, he should have been pleased she'd responded to his threat the way she had; wasn't that just what he expected, that women would just fall over themselves backwards for a 'dangerous' guy, and all the girls loved dangerous guys (too stupid for their own good, until it was too late).

In a potentially life and death situation, she'd try anything once. Pretty much anything was preferable to death.

His move turned out to be rather disappointing. Holding her away from him, he said, just as if he was a normal person, "For Christ sake, go to the car! You might have given me a little more warning you lose your head when your blood sugar drops too low."

She glared, shooting him a filthy look. "I'm sorry - wasn't that desperate enough for you?" she scathed.

He glanced away from her, to the left, at nothing in particular. It was one of those _There's something wrong here, I know it_ things.

She wanted to laugh. Like he was the normal one!

"Don't do that again," he said, finally, sort of normally, and walked off, leaving her behind.

She stalked off to the car and sat down on the bonnet. He had the fucking keys and he'd gone off somewhere (the front office) to drop the room keys in.

"You wouldn't believe I just found you incredibly sad and fucked up and lonely; that that appealed to me in some stupid, romantic, possibly borderline suicidal way?" she asked, slipping off the bonnet, as he walked back over.

"No," he said.

"Wow, you're a real fucking bastard," she replied.

He shook his head, and got out his car keys. "You're not that stupid," he told her.

She gasped in false surprise. "My, is that meant as a compliment! Aw, you're real cute!"

"If you like, if you'd prefer, I could amend that to _You're a cold, insensitive bitch who wouldn't know shit about anyone else's suffering if it came fully narrated in English, with optional Danish and Norwegian subtitles_," he told her, pulling open the car door.

"Gee," she mock gushed, "I think that really upped the ante in cuteness!"

He pulled the car door shut after him too loudly and leant over to unlock her door.

Getting into the car, she asked, "Does that include Spanish subtitles, too; or English descriptive subtitling for the hearing impaired?"

"Fuck off," he muttered.

She turned to look behind her, at the backseat, and smiled, turning back to him. "Oh, look, we seem to be alone in here! _Tres_ romantic!"

Silently fuming, he turned on the engine, and backed out of the parking space.

"Road trip!" she enthused brightly, reaching for the radio.

He slapped her hand away. "Leave it the fuck off!"

"Keep your eyes on the fucking road!" she hissed back. "In fact, why don't we try this. _Stop the fuckin' car_, lunatic! I'd rather fucking hitchhike with a serial killer than stay in here with you! Oh wait - you are a _fucking serial killer_!"

He laughed.

"And now you're laughing about it. Shoot me now, asshole!" She grabbed the handle on her car door.

"Go on then," he said, glancing at her sideways, in amusement, "jump out! Cos no way am I stopping this vehicle."

Finally, she let go of the handle, but she sat perfectly still until they stopped to refill the tank at a service station, by which time breakfast was well and truly over.

.

She got out at the gas station, slamming the door hard enough for it to jar the whole vehicle, and earning herself a deathly glare from Lyle she didn't bother to even acknowledge, and stomped off over to the building.

A minute later, she came stomping back, and stood glaring at Lyle from a long moment before she finally formulated the angry look in her eyes into words. "I'm hungry!"

"Oh shit, are you, baby?" he asked, feigning concern. "Ain't that too bad, now. Well guess what - I ain't your fuckin' boyfriend, and I ain't that fuckin' pest brother o' yours! I couldn't care fuckin' less, babe!"

She sniggered. "Maybe you're my dad."

"As I recall rightly, your father's a homicidal fuckin' maniac!" he snapped.

"Shit, you're right," she said, "holy, fucking shit! You may well be my dad!"

"Oh fuck off!"

"Cash first," she chimed, smiling at him.

"Shit, I really mean it! Fuck off! Go see if there's anyone willing to buy your services for a couple of minutes, and buy yourself something to eat!"

"Could do that, Daddy. Could do. Seein' as how we're family an' all, I'll give you a special price." She twisted a lock of hair around her index finger, smiling cutely. "Wha' do you say?"

A business type young woman filling her car at the next pump got a very funny look, and avoided looking at them.

"Oops. I think she heard us, Pa," Emily said, grinning.

"Shut up! Just shut up!"

"Nope. Can't. Hungry," Emily chimed, and placed a hand over her stomach, faking a pained expression.

"You're too much, you know that!" he snapped angrily. "How old are you? 42!"

"41!" she whispered dirtily. She hadn't had her birthday yet.

He ignored her for the rest of the time it took to fill the tank, and she went on playing like she was in pain. When he walked off to pay, she rushed after him in her best _It hurts, but I'm not dead yet_ walk.

He stopped suddenly at the door and turned quickly, grabbing her arm and holding it tightly. "Stop with the fucking shenanigans or the only thing you'll be getting is a slap across the face!" he growled, under his breath.

"I like it," she whispered back cheerfully. "I'm sure all the onlookers will too! Bit of excitement in their day! Who can knock that!"

He let go of her arm, and stepped into the building.

Quashing the urge to roll her eyes, she followed him inside. She wasn't kidding - she was hungry!

At the counter, she chose four health bars and added a packet of assorted hair ties and clips and a bottled water, humming to whatever was on the radio and looking bored.

He shook his head and paid for the stuff she'd put down along with the fuel, and walked out.

She made a face, and smiled at the cashier when he offered to put that in a bag for her. "Yes, please," she said. "You're so kind. Have a great day!"

.

Back in the car, Lyle said, "Look, I shouldn't have said those things I did to you. I was out of line, and it was uncalled for. I shouldn't have allowed myself to be provoked; you're going through a difficult time, right now, but I'm only thinking about myself and my own problems. Your... your brother's sick; I'm sorry."

"Problems!" Emily scoffed, deliberately not looking at him.

Behind them, a car honked.

"Go," she said, still glaring at her lap, "I'm not in the mood for another confrontation."

He shook his head and started the car, leaving the service station and rejoining the traffic on the road.

After maybe ten minutes, Emily threw him an angry look. "Where are we going?"

"Hopefully, to find someone who can help your brother. I think I have an idea what happened, and it's not any degenerative disease. He was very sick, at one point, wasn't he? Had a very high fever?"

Emily looked out the window, saying nothing.

"Brain damage and a degenerative disease are not the same thing, Emily," he told her.

"It wasn't Jarod's fault," she whispered, to the glass.

"It was an accident. It wasn't anyone's fault."

She scowled, shaking her head.

"Hey, I'm sure if there's something Jarod could have done for him, he would have done it. The kid's family, a brother; Jarod holds things like that in high regard. I'm sure he did his very best."

She laughed bitterly. "And now you're his best friend, suddenly!" she scathed darkly.

"I have some idea of how he thinks, how he operates. He's your brother - don't you think he'd do everything humanly possible for someone he cared about, _especially_ his family! For your brother, for you." He sighed. "He didn't leave you there by choice, Emily. He had no choice. If he'd stayed any longer, if he'd tried to get your out, too, he'd have risked getting caught, and if that happened, you definitely would have been exposed, too. They'd have found out you two were related, and it wouldn't have been nice for you, at all. What was he supposed to do? Get himself killed for you! That would just be stupid, now, wouldn't it?"

She crossed her arms. "I'm not mad at Jarod," she hissed. "I fucking hate you!"

"And am I criticising you for that?" he asked. "I'm trying to apologise for my behaviour, not call you out on yours."

"Well, I don't accept your apology," she replied. "I don't have to, and I'm not. I don't fucking trust you, and I'm not about to start. So you can just stop pretending to care."

"I'm not pretending to care. I never said I cared. I said I understood. Don't read into what I say; you won't be doing either of us any good by doing so. I'm not you, _or your brother_; I don't think the way you do. The only person I care about is me. It's as simple as that. The sooner you accept that fact, the better off you'll be. But right now, I'm not important. You're not important. Gemini is. We get him help first, and then we see about the rest."

"Why do you give a damn what happens to..." she forced herself, painfully, to call him by the codename he was once known by; once, when he hadn't had a name of his own and had been treated as though he was nothing more than a toy; a shiny, fancy, living, breathing toy, "Gemini, or not?"

"He's one of ours, Emily. His affiliation with the company hasn't quite expired yet, and won't do so for a couple of years. Therefore, given that he is still considered an asset of considerable weight, albeit an unrecovered asset, I think I'm obliged to look out for his best interests, where he can't."

"When will it expire?" she asked, in a low voice.

"2015."

She grinned, darkly. Well, wasn't that just a relief. "And if you find some way to help him, you're still going to be looking to take him back in, that won't have changed. Why do you think, then, I should fucking do anything to help you?"

"Because he's your brother, and you love him. You don't want him to die, no more than you want him to live out the rest of his life the way he is now. You want him to have a decent life, too, the same as your brother does, and your parents do, and... and my half brother. You want him to at least have that chance."

"You're a fucking bastard," she told him.

"In more ways than one, I've been told."

.

It was close to three in the afternoon when they finally pulled up in a decent-sized town, and Lyle decided they should find somewhere to eat something. He'd run out of jelly beans, and even if she hadn't eaten half of them, jelly beans weren't a proper food.

It was cooler, now, so he went around to the boot and offered her a cardigan. She took it silently and slipped it on, buttoning up the little teddy bear buttons sullenly. She couldn't be bothered arguing the point with him; she really was hungry, and tired. It would do her some good to eat something other than jelly beans; they'd made her feel slightly ill, having them on an empty stomach, and she hadn't felt like eating the bars she'd bought back in the gas station. The only reason she'd ate the jelly beans was because they weren't hers, because they were Lyle's, and he was an asshole.

Her antagonistic mood had stayed with her for a couple of hours, before evaporating, and she'd fallen asleep, and had to be shaken awake when they stopped.

He shut the car door she'd left open, and nodded for her to go ahead. "Come on." He put a hand on her arm, but she jerked her arm away and walked ahead.

She stopped outside to read the day's menu, studying it for a few moments, and turned back around. "This place is too expensive," she huffed, and crossed her arms over her chest, glancing up at the cloudy sky when it started to rain, huddling closer to the wall.

"It is not," he told her. "It's a hotel, not a fast food place. What do you expect the prices to be like? Come on, come inside before you get rained on."

She made a face, annoyed. "The lunch hour's over," she pointed out. "They won't even have anything."

He frowned and nodded to the menu. _Meals all day_, it read.

She shook her head. "I'm not hungry."

"Yes you are," he replied. "Don't be stubborn. You look like you're about to faint."

"Bullshit!"

"It's not bullshit," he said. "Come on. You're not the only one who's hungry here."

"I'm not hungry, I already said!" she snapped.

"No arguing. I am." He reached for her arm. "Smile, alright, or else they're gonna think they've got a real life zombie on their hands."

She snickered, but refused to smile.

"Look, have it your way; smile, or don't smile, do what you want, but come inside." He shook his head. "I'm not in the mood to stand out here all day. You know where to find me." He opened the door and left her standing outside, on her own.

She turned her back on the door and stood staring up at the rain, for a long time; until she was far too cold, and then she finally gave up and staggered inside. When she wandered over to the table he was sitting at, Lyle nodded to the black coffee he'd gotten her in her absence. "It's good for your heart," he said.

She sat down heavily, not caring what anyone thought of her. She felt like shit. "Then why have you got one?" she asked, blankly. "You don't have a heart. It's just there, but it's not real." She reached for her drink and wrapped her fingers around it. It was still hot. She closed her eyes, waiting to feel a bit warmer.

"Emily! Oh my gosh, it is you! You're so... you! Mini, little you!"

Emily opened her eyes, looking tired and pissed off. "Oh my gosh!" she echoed plainly, widening her eyes for a second. "What the fuck did you expect, Nina! Tentacles! Little green feelers!"

Nina blinked. "Jeez, Emily, you're really in a shitty mood."

"Fuck you, too, Nina!" she snapped.

Nina suddenly seemed to notice Lyle, and her eyes slid away from Emily. "Hiya!" she said brightly, offering her hand. "Nina Ulysses-Johns."

"Hello," he said, but nothing further.

Nina gave a strained smile and turned back to Emily. "Are you guys married or is he your divorce lawyer?"

Emily broke into hysterical laughter.

"Gosh," Nina replied, and turned back to Lyle. "Help."

He shook his head, finally smiling a little. She wasn't his old friend, she was Em's.

"Emily!"

Emily got to her feet, feeling like a fool in front of Nina Ulysses-Johns in her designer skirt suit, and he with her bumpkin clothes and some dumb little kid's cardigan with teddy bear buttons, and ungainly lace-up boots. She smiled, and stepped over to Nina, embracing her in a hug. She could have screamed and ripped on the woman's hair, but she didn't do this. She was calculating the possibility of Nina's friendship coming in handy later on down the track.

"Long time no see, Neen," she said, stepping apart from the other woman to look into her face. "You look good!" She tried for a girlish tone. "And you're married!"

"I am!" Nina confirmed all too happily.

"What does he do?"

"He's a lawyer, and he's very good. Not to mention, rich."

Emily giggled. "Why don't you have lunch with us?" she suggested, gasping as though the idea had just occurred to her, and it was so _great_!

"So, is he your husband?" Nina asked, casting a glance in Lyle's direction.

"Second husband," Emily said. "My first husband was really insane."

Nina's eyes widened. "Oh my God!"

Emily tossed her chin. "That's all in the past, now. I've moved on." She nodded to Lyle. "Nina, Robert. Robert, Nina."

"Hello, Nina," Lyle replied, reaching over to shake her hand.

"Hi."

"So... Will you join us for lunch?"

Nina rolled her eyes, sighing exaggeratedly. "Alright, but you forced me into it, you two."

Emily laughed, taking her seat again.

"How long have you been married?" Nina asked, fixing her gaze to Emily's, the way schoolgirls sometimes interrogated each other, searching for any sign of weakness, any hint of a lie.

"Nine months," Emily replied, smiling.

.

"She wasn't my friend," Emily said, once Nina had left, sipping her second black coffee. "She was a serious bitch! And apparently she still is. Fuck, I hope she hasn't got kids."

"You should have asked," Lyle said.

"She doesn't deserve kids," Emily replied. "She'd just fuck them up, too."

"She didn't seem that bad, to me," he remarked.

She snorted. Some fucking ISP he was! "No, well, I'm sure she was just your type," she replied condescendingly. "Or she would have been, if she'd been Asian. Funny, strong, independent, with expensive taste. Fucking, two-faced bitch."

"But that's my business, isn't it," he told her. "Not yours."

She scowled. _Loser!_

.

After they'd left the hotel, they drove for another couple of hours before Emily declared that she wanted to sleep, without the continual racket from the engine.

To her annoyance, Lyle pulled up the car in a truck rest stop on the side of the road. It had a bin, and nothing else. Not even a picnic table or a bench. No light. Nothing.

"I don't want to sleep on the side of the road!" she snapped angrily.

"Well, too bad, cos that's where you're gonna be sleeping," he told her. "Your adorable brother's cancelled my credit card, so I don't have any money for expensive motels. I need that for the car, or else we'll be pushing it. Do you find that idea particularly cute, or fun, because I don't!"

She kicked open the car door and stormed outside, slamming the door after her. She didn't walk off, there was nowhere to walk to, so she just stood outside, with her arms crossed, feeling mad and telling herself that violence wasn't the answer. He'd said it before, if she hit him, he'd hit her back, and she didn't think she'd much like that. She was, as Nina had said, too fucking puny for her own good. She might have been able to run, but wouldn't win in a fight, not with him, and she had her doubts about honestly running away, either. She hadn't exactly won the race back to the motel.

When she'd been outside long enough, and she'd started to miss the heater, she yanked open the back door and got back inside. He could just sleep up the front; the backseat was hers.

"Turn the heater back on!" she snapped, but he said nothing, and he didn't turn the heater on.

She glared out the dark window, for a long few minutes, feeling alone and trapped, until, finally, she got sick of that and lay back down.

It was still dark, when she woke up, too cold. Her fingers didn't want to move properly. Sitting up, she decided to get out and sit in the front, in front of the heater. If she could get the keys, she'd be able to turn it back on.

Outside, it was raining, so instead of getting out she climbed over the front seat and sat staring at the rain-blurred windshield, wishing she knew how to contact Jarod, wishing she was with her family, instead. Instead of here, in the cold and dark.

The key was sitting on the dashboard. She picked it up and held it in her palm, closing her fingers over it. She held it for a long time, but her hand was so cold the metal remained as cold as ever, when she returned it to the dash. If they really didn't have money to spare, then she'd be a fool to turn the heater on. She'd have to get the engine going for the heater to work.

She sat back against the seat, shivering. She'd almost fallen asleep, when she gave up - it was just too cold - and shuffled closer to Lyle and rested her head on his shoulder.

He'd better fucking sort something out in the morning. No way in Hell was she spending another night in a freezing fucking car.

.

The rain hadn't stopped, when she woke, finally, to find that it was morning, though the sunlight had done little to warm things up; the rain, if possible, had gotten worse. The loudness of it, on the roof, hurt Emily's ears, and woke her from sleep.

She could tell the heater had been switched back on before she even opened her eyes. She sat up, rubbing her face with her hands, and frowned. Oh gross! The weirdo had touched her without asking if it was okay with her first. She felt like slapping him, but she wasn't about to complain about the jacket, either, even if it wasn't hers and the sleeves were too long for her.

She straightened in her seat and took a deep breath, pushing Lyle in the arm with a hand. He was staring out the windscreen in a very creep way.

She shuffled over to the other side of the car, to the passenger's side front seat, and stretched out her legs a little. Casually, she said, "What are you looking at?"

"Nothing," he replied uncaringly. "I'm sure they know by now he's not coming back."

"What?" she asked, suddenly confused, and a little bit weirded out.

"The child from the news; the missing one."

"What do you mean he's not coming back?" Emily asked. "Did Catherine tell you that?"

"Something like that," he agreed blandly. "He's not coming back. He'll probably wind up dead. Turn up eventually."

Emily stared at him, her eyes widening. "Is he dead now? Right now?"

"It's hard to say. Not necessarily." He wound the window on his side down some, ignoring the rain that came in.

Emily tried to catch his eyes. "Can we help him?"

He glanced at her, then sighed, his eyes losing focus a little. It was a second before it occurred to her that he wasn't looking at her anymore, but at someone else. Someone sitting in the chair beside hers!

"Don't be scared," Lyle said calmly, to no-one really. "It's not the end. There'll be many more things to look forward; happy things."

"Who are you talking to?" Emily whispered, though a part of her wanted to kick open the door and run out into the rain; anything to get away from the creepy-crawly feeling enveloping her whole body.

Lyle smiled, and nodded. "Jacob would like a hug, before he goes, if it's not too much trouble. Do you mind?"

"Who?" she mouthed silently, eyes panicked. It was a pointless question, though, really. She could see _who_, _now_! The little boy, Jacob, smiled at her. She bit back a scream. Oh fuck! "Of course I don't mind, darling," she said, in her best talking-to-kids voice, and reached over to pull him towards her, into her arms, and hug him.

He still felt warm.

She wanted to vomit.

She hugged him tightly, figuring it was the last hug he'd ever have. Ever. It was just massively, ridiculously, fucking unfair that it was her hugging him, and not his mom and dad; not his mom and dad he got to say goodbye to, the last time he said goodbye to anyone.

"Bye," he said to her, finally.

She managed to force a smile onto her face and returned, "Happy travels."

Before she'd had enough time to take a steadying breath, he was gone. It was warm in the car, but it wasn't the same kind of warm - it was too bloody warm.

She threw open the car door and lurched out, falling to the ground on her knees in the squishy mud where the gravel ended, and vomited into the tall grass.

Lyle came out of the car and stood behind her.

She could have got up and fucking laid into him, she was that furious, that fucking mad, but she just couldn't be bothered, she just didn't have the energy. She cried, instead. If he ever, _ever_ did that to her again, she vowed she'd kill him where he stood!

She felt Lyle rest a hand on her shoulder, but she couldn't care less.

"Hey. He was happy," he told her. "You did good."

With furiously pounding heart, and tears running into her mouth and down her face, washed away by the rain, she forced down the urge to stand up and punch him in the face. He'd probably fucking enjoy it!

She threw up again.


	3. Chapter 3

The place had one thing going for it, Emily thought, and that was that the waiting area chairs were, at least, comfortable. She listened to Norah Jones playing in the background and ignored the orderly pile of magazines (for a change, the latest editions), and watched the rain hitting the pavement outside; splash, splat, splash. "How old is your son?" she asked dully, the grey of day and the shine of the glass reflected in her eyes as she watched the rain pour down.

"Eleven," Lyle replied quietly, and glanced at the clock on the wall.

Emily sighed and reached for one of the magazines. She'd finally taken a trip to the department store and bought herself something for her figurative wardrobe. She was wearing a dress, today, and a long winter coat and tall boots she'd matched with a long green scarf.

She didn't know why they'd come to this clinic, but it was starting to get on her nerves. Lyle didn't tell her anything, it irritated her, and that fact alone was enough to irritate her even further.

Not that she had really tried to ask. They hadn't spoken more than a handful of words in three days, since Jacob's goodbye. The next night, she'd watched the news coverage on Jacob's disappearance on the TV in her motel room, she watched the police talk about finding his body, and his parents crying, his 17-year-old sister saying nothing. She'd felt like shit. She still did. The weather hadn't improved.

She dropped the magazine back on the table without even opening the front cover and sat back in her chair, closing her eyes. She was tired. Tired. She just wanted to be back with her family. Back with those she knew and trusted, those she loved. She was sick, sick of hanging around someone whose presence alone set her on edge, whose vibes made her want to leap out of her chair and run away, as far as she could.

"He likes Norah Jones."

Emily opened her eyes. "Excuse me?"

"My son," Lyle repeated. "He likes Norah Jones."

Emily snorted.

"What's your favourite song?"

She rolled her eyes and laughed puffily. "What's yours?" she shot sarcastically.

"_Cherry Pink and Apple Blossom White_, currently."

She tossed her head, her hair brushing against her shoulders, taken by a sudden bout of antagonism. "What's Jarod's?"

"We never had that conversation. Kyle's favourite song was _Blue Moon_."

"Fuck you!" she hissed.

He sighed and looked away from her.

"What the fuck are we doing here?" she asked.

"Waiting," he replied simply.

She laughed, _Typical!_, and crossed her arms over her chest.

"Jeannie Carter."

Emily stood up and headed over to the doctor who'd called her name. He looked to be in his thirties; he was good-looking, Emily thought. She wondered if he knew his stuff. From what she'd heard, he was just a regular doctor; not a specialist. But perhaps all they were looking for from him was a referral.

"Your husband?" Dr. Thompson asked, of Lyle.

"No," she said plainly, and left it at that.

They walked to Thompson's office.

The framed degree on his wall said his name was Eric Walter Thompson, and that he'd earned his qualification at a reputable university. Emily didn't really care where he'd gotten his piece of paper, just if he'd be able to help her brother.

"What's the problem, Miss Carter?" Thompson asked, prompting her when she remained silent.

"Actually, it's my associate who wanted to talk to you," she said, nodding to Lyle.

Lyle frowned. "You're- you're a Healer?"

Thompson instantly adopted a dark look. "Who's asking exactly?" he asked.

"Jeannie and I," Lyle replied.

"I see," Thompson said, reaching for his telephone.

Suppressing a sigh, Lyle passed him a business card. "Lila Bradwell referred us."

Thompson took the card, flipping it over to read the handwriting on the back. He glanced back at Lyle. "Lila gave you an overview of my rates, did she?"

"That's right," Lyle replied.

Thompson sighed. "Okay. Again, what's the problem?"

"My brother's recently acquired lasting brain damage," Emily told him. She didn't know what a Healer was, but she had a feeling it was pretty self-explanatory. Clearly, it had something to do with Cooper's Anomaly.

"Why isn't your brother here, with you?"

"We weren't sure you'd be the right person for the job," Emily answered, starting to get annoyed with this guy, too.

"It's a little hard to say without having actually met the patient, don't you think?" he asked.

Emily refrained from laughing. "Have you worked with cases like my brother's in the past, or haven't you?" she returned stubbornly.

"No," he answered honestly, "I can't say that I have."

She shook her head, and got to her feet. "Then we're done here," she said. "Show me what I've got to sign."

Dr. Thompson stood up, behind his desk. "Look, there may be a possibility that I can do something, possibly even that that something will turn out to be positive for your brother. That, if I can't Heal him, I can get him on the right track to a natural recovery. Give me a chance."

Emily shook her head. "Where do I sign?"

"Jeannie," Lyle said, frowning at her seriously.

She glared at him hatefully. Finally, she returned her attention to Thompson, and begrudgingly retook her seat.

Thompson sat back down. "I'd like to see your brother," he said.

"He's the one who believes in this shit," Emily spat, throwing a dirty look in Lyle's direction. "I see no reason to believe it, too." Without the barest indication of it in her eyes, she lurched forward in her chair and seized the silver-plated pen from Thompson's desk and stabbed it into Lyle's arm.

Tossing her chin the doctor's way, she shot, "Can you fix that!"

Smiling painfully, Lyle said, "We wouldn't want to walk away without first getting our money's worth. Good thinking, Jeannie."

Thompson rose slowly to his feet, physically refusing to glance at Emily. She was a mad woman.

Lyle stood up, shaking his head. "You'd best not," he said, to Thompson. "I've had the AH serum."

Thompson's expression turned dark. "Has her brother?"

"No."

Emily shot to her feet, outraged. "You can't fix him?" she demanded.

"Jeannie," Lyle told her calmly, "if he's going to have any hope of helping your brother, we can't kill him."

"If he can't fix a simple stab wound, then what can he do?" Emily growled.

"The AH serum will kill him, Jeannie. It has nothing to do with what he can or can't do. That's just what it was designed to do."

Thompson dropped the confused look. He was no less confused than before, but now he just couldn't be bothered giving himself a headache over the whole matter. Apparently, the girl didn't know jack about Healers. So it was just the guy, then. He wondered how the two knew each other; it was clear they weren't partners. But perhaps they'd been, in the past. Which would explain the woman's hatred towards him, he thought.

"Okay," he said, trying to smooth things down. "Okay. I can help here. We'll have a look at it, hopefully fix it up with a couple of sutures."

Emily rolled her eyes.

"Could I- could I do without the local anaesthetic?" Lyle asked.

Thompson looked sceptical. "Any particular reason?"

"No particular reason. I don't trust injections."

Thompson shrugged. Conspiracy theory nuts. "If that's what you wanna do," he replied. The guys probably had his reasons; something to do with the AH serum, he reckoned.

Directing him to a seat, he asked, "Do you mind me asking how you came by the serum?"

"Former employee of A. Thom."

"Ah. Well, in that case, say no more. This guy's heard enough horror stories about that place to last five lifetimes, at least." He laughed, hoping it would lighten the mood.

Wherever these two had come from, he was starting to regret asking to see the woman again. Then, he supposed it wasn't right to judge her brother on her behaviour alone. For all her knew, her brother was a real decent guy. A decent guy who'd suffered a shitty misfortune.

.

"Okay, I'll tell you what," Thompson said, to Emily, when he'd finished with Lyle's stitches. "You want proof, we're gonna have to take a walk."

Emily squared her shoulders and stood straight, crossing her arms tightly. So she'd take a walk.

Thompson nodded. "Follow me," he said.

Emily glared at Lyle. "You don't want to get that infected," she said to Lyle. "You'd better stay here." She didn't say, _I don't trust you, freak._ After the incident with the little missing/dead boy, Jacob, that was exactly what she didn't do, trust him. Not that she'd trusted him before, but she trusted him even less now. Didn't trust that he hadn't fooled her somehow with his ISP; messed with her head. He was a creep. Messing with people's head was a hobby of his; it gave him real delight.

She pulled the door shut after her, with a snap, and walked briskly after the doctor, catching him up with a few quick strides.

.

The clinic was located next door to a large, city hospital. Dr. Thompson was over there on a frequent basis, for different things. It wasn't strange for him to turn up, time to time. He took Emily over there to check out the children's ward.

She didn't look menacing or scary, at all, he thought, seeing her expression now, seeing all these sick kids. She looked like any regular, feeling person. He wondered what the guy had done to make her hate him the way she did.

It wasn't hard for him to find the right kid for his demonstration; this kid was a recent arrival, chicken pox.

He made sure they were alone in the room with the kid, that she was asleep, and explained to Emily what was wrong with her, though it seemed fairly evident.

Then he put his hand on her head, and Healed her. Where there'd previously lay a kid with a badly blemished face and arms, there lay, in her place, a kid with a perfectly clear complexion, no sign of the affliction that had earlier marred her features, the illness that had hindered her.

Emily remained silent, mulling over what she'd just seen. Then she crossed her arms and said, plainly, "Okay."

.

On the walk back to the clinic he worked at, Emily let the breath she'd been holding go and glanced at Thompson, her expression free of any animosity or anger she'd felt earlier.

When she wasn't glaring, Eric thought she was actually a good-looking girl. She had a kind face. He supposed the guy was an asshole. Whatever she'd done, he'd deserved it.

"What's Atom?" she asked, frankly.

A smile touched his lips. She really didn't know anything about his world, did she? "They _were_ a company. They're not anymore. They were shut down. Believe me, the stories I've heard about that place, I don't want to repeat to anyone. Just thinking about it makes my skin crawl. I think we can all sleep easy at night knowing they're no longer around, no longer running. They really fucked up a lot of people's lives."

Emily sighed.

"You're okay, aren't you?" Eric asked. He stopped, and turned to her seriously, looking her in the eye. Taking a risk, he reached out a hand, resting it lightly on her arm. "You're okay now? He doesn't hurt you anymore? You're not together anymore? You've... gone your own ways?"

Emily looked away from him, annoyed.

"You take care of yourself?"

She looked back to him, meeting his gaze. "If he turns up dead someday, you won't know anything about it, will you?"

He took a deep breath. "No," he said. "Nothing."

She shrugged, and started off, her boots crunching on the gravel. "I'm okay," she said, walking away.

Watching her, for a second, he let his breath go, sighing. She was a pretty girl, really. If anyone had ever made her feel otherwise, then they were just write-offs, not proper human beings. He felt glad that she'd come around to sticking up for herself, eventually; glad she'd stopped letting people get away with walking all over her.

Sighing, he set off after her. What the Hell. He smiled.

.

He pulled open the door of his office, stepping inside first, merely as a precaution. Emily didn't say anything about it; didn't make a fuss out of it.

Across the room, Lyle was singing _I Got You Babe_, smiling about something that wasn't entirely apparent; he wasn't looking at anything, he'd closed his eyes.

Eric wondered if he really was a nutcase, or perhaps it was some kind of delayed shock, some weird reaction to his stabbing. At the time, he'd hadn't looked shocked, not really even a little, but Eric wasn't sure the guy was really operating in the real world. He was creepy happy, all of a sudden, like maybe he really was some serious nutcase.

He put a hand out to stop Emily from approaching him, but she ignored his little gesture; just had to be stupidly brave, had to show everyone who cared to take notice, she was totally in control!

She put a hand on his shoulder.

Eric fought the urge to march over there and step in front of her, just in case. She was a tiny slip of a thing, really; easily hurt.

The guy stopped singing, stopped smiling, opened his eyes. "How did it go?" he asked, his expression morbid, once more.

"I'll buy it," she said, her tone no-nonsense, "for now."

He got to his feet. "Ready to go?"

She shook her head, and walked back to Eric. "Thank you for your time, doctor," she began.

"Eric," he replied. "Call me Eric, if you prefer. I hope to see your brother very soon." He nodded. "I'll just get your signature, Jeannie."

She walked with him back to his desk.

.

"Eric," Lyle said, in the car park, with a depreciatory laugh. "Didn't even bother to check Clea's chart; wasn't even interested in knowing her name." He glanced at Emily. "He seems to like you, though."

She didn't say anything. Right about now, she was regretting she hadn't stabbed him to death with that stupid, expensive pen.

A half hour later, they were sitting in a café, waiting for their coffees to come. Emily hadn't touched her pastry, a custard danish with chocolate sauce.

Once they'd had their coffees, she'd be on her own. She'd contact her brother, hopefully, she'd be able to convince him to let the kid see Thompson, they'd see what happened. He'd give her the money she needed for a room, the bus fare, whatever. If she needed it, he could help her out with what she had to pay the Healer.

"Are you on fuckin' drugs?" she asked, abruptly.

He smiled. Couldn't help it. She was pretty funny, sometimes. Though, it was sorta endearing. Maybe he was just fucked up, to think so, but he appreciated that she could be honest about her feelings. He had no way of reading her, still. "Yeah," he replied slowly.

Her disgusted expression didn't change. It didn't help him. It just made him smile that bit more. She sure was a strange girl.

"Why?" he asked. "You think it helps?"

Her eyes widened in barely concealed hilarity. "You're fucking mad!"

He nodded, giving up with the happy face. "I don't think we were ever in doubt about that," he said.

"No doubt," she replied, her voice like stone, unfeelingly.

And that was the way it went, he thought to himself.

"You were never given that serum," she said, coldly.

"No," he agreed, "but my uncle was. It killed him." He smiled. "But not me. They wouldn't get near me with the rubbish." He nodded. "What do you think of him? Eric. What's he like? A good guy. Healed that little girl for you."

Emily bit back a growl. "He didn't Heal her for _me_!" she spat angrily, with force. "He... he fuckin' helped her because she was sick!"

"No, sure, that's exactly it. He did. He helped her because she was sick," Lyle agreed. He shrugged. "Anyone would have done the same thing, right? If they'd been able, they'd have done the same thing. Would have helped all of those sick little kids. Yeah, sure. What kind of a human being could turn away from a sick kid? They'd have to be a monster!"

"Shut up!" she ground, breathing deeply, doing her utmost not to grab her dessert fork and stab him with it. She'd done it before, she could do it again! She wouldn't feel a fucking thing! Well, no, that wasn't true - she'd fucking enjoy it!

He sighed, and nodded to the waitress who'd appeared with their coffees. Perhaps she'd seen them arguing and thought she'd better hurry it up with their order, get to them before they started an all out war; maybe they'd calm down if they weren't kept waiting, one less thing to get annoyed about, a little less stress. "Tah," he said, smiling at her. "Thanks, Chloey. I think you saved me."

"I'm very sorry for the delay," she said, not knowing what to say. She just wanted to get away from these two, not to mention the creepy guy. Did he have to smile at her like that, like he knew her from someplace. She thought about that, hoping he didn't _actually_ know her from somewhere.

"Not your fault," he replied. "These things happen."

She turned away quickly, hoping the woman wouldn't chip in with some counter argument. _No, stuff like this doesn't happen. At a decent café!_

"Chloey."

Wincing, she slowly turned back around.

"Take it easy. A job's meant to be fun; it's not meant to drive you crazy. Have fun."

She nodded mutely, very nearly frozen in terror. Why did she always end up with the loonies, whilst the other girls got the sort of customers that you told stories about at work parties, funny stories your co-workers laughed along with you with, not laughed _at_ you for?

"Hey! What's your favourite song?"

The voice in her mind she normally associated with her Bullshit Detector screamed, _Don't tell him!_ She shrugged, made a face like _I don't do that sort of thing, favourite song stuff_, prayed he'd believe her, prayed someone would save her soon. She wouldn't have even been put off if a total stranger came up and told the guy off for her; he was way creepy.

He looked like he was thinking about her answer. After a moment or two, he started humming something. She didn't know the song. She didn't think she wanted to, like it would have some creep relevance to his freakish obsession with her, all of a sudden.

He bit his lip, and smiled again. He hummed a Lily Allen number, _The Fear_.

She burst out laughing, damn glad that she hadn't burst into tears.

"Uh-hah! That one you know!"

She put a hand over her mouth. What was this creep's problem? Had his daughter died, or something, and ever since then, he couldn't help but terrorise every eighteen-give-or-take-something he came across. She dissolved into laughter, tears welling in her eyes.

"Leave her alone!" the woman yelled, suddenly.

Chloey jumped.

The guy pushed the container with the sugar sachets across the table, towards her, shooting her a wary look.

Chloey smiled, and rushed off, whilst she still had the chance. Run, he's Goddamn distracted!

"You creep!" she heard the woman say, distastefully, and had to stop herself from sniggering.

The guy crossed his arms, no doubt sulking.

When she had a moment, she peeked around the counter, confirming her suspicions. No shit! The guy looked ready to bawl. What a fucking weirdo!

He looked out at the people walking past the café, checking out the other shops the mall had on offer. He closed his eyes for a moment, and she had a really creepy feeling he was thinking about her.

She got back to work. She only looked up when she saw the woman stand up, ready to go. She hoped the guy left with her. She started to cross her fingers, before she caught herself. They were together, right? The guy would leave, if the chick did.

The guy said something to the woman, nodding to the table. Chloey couldn't hear what he said, someone was making a frappe; the machine was bloody loud. The next thing she knew, the woman slapped the guy across the face.

Chloey actually flinched, and blushed. She'd never have hit anyone like that, even if she wished she could have the guts to. She felt really proud for the chick. He was a loser and a creep!

After that, the guy didn't say anything; he just walked away.

The woman shook her head, scowling after him.

Chloey felt like going over there and telling her, _Good on you_. She didn't, but she thought it real hard. If telepathy was real, the woman would get the message. She hoped so. She hoped she didn't miss that weirdo.

.

Emily glared after Lyle. She'd felt pretty good, for a couple of moments, when Eric had talked to her like she was a person and not some kind of closet lunatic, even though she'd pulled a pretty closet loony move right in front of him. She'd been happy; she hadn't felt shitty, to think of her brother. She'd thought, _Well, okay_. She'd thought, _This could work_. But Lyle had had to go and ruin that for her. Then, when he'd got bored of making her life suck, he'd decided he'd make someone else's life suck, too.

Fuck!

She wished she had a gun to shoot him with. She'd shoot him in the fucking head and be done with it! Wouldn't even bother with this slow and painful shit.

She couldn't even have her coffee in peace; couldn't even relax, for five effing seconds! She'd just got through with telling him to keep his creepy self to himself, and there he goes again, cos it's polite, yeah, cos it's fuckin' polite, take the cups and saucers (don't forget your plate) to the counter. And she can't see that it's just a ploy to terrorise that poor girl some more!

_Fuck, where's the police when you need them!_ she thinks furiously. She was beyond leave no witnesses, she'd swipe the cop's gun and shoot the fucker dead in front of the whole fuckin' mall, the whole fuckin' town, if she had to! She'd laugh, afterwards, and say it was a pity she couldn't do it again.

.

She strolled around the mall for a couple of hours, looking at shops pointlessly, trying to remember anything about what Jarod had said about contacting her, before she finally gave up and took a seat on a plastic stool in the level two food court. It was no use, she just couldn't remember.

She folded her arms, on the tabletop, and closed her eyes.

"Excuse me? Excuse me?"

She woke to the feeling of someone patting her arm.

"Excuse me?" the girl tried again, shyly.

Emily opened her eyes. Oh, the girl from the café. "Hi," she said.

"Are you okay?" the girl asked.

"Honestly?" She smiled. Okay, so she just didn't feel like dumping _that_ on the girl. "Yes, I'm fine," she replied brightly. "Are you?"

The girl nodded silently.

Emily got a note out of her coat pocket. "This is gonna sound pretty weird, but would you mind joining me for a drink. I'm thinking a strawberry milkshake, for me..."

The girl smiled. "I... I'll have the same. Chocolate."

"I'm Emily." Emily offered the girl her hand.

"Chloey," the girl answered, shaking her hand.

At the Donut King counter, Chloey glanced at her and asked, "Was that guy your boyfriend?"

"No," she replied.

"He's a creep," Chloey said. "I wouldn't hang around him, if... if I was you."

Emily nodded. "No, I wouldn't, either. But it couldn't be helped. My brother's not well, and..." Why was she telling the girl this? "And he was _supposedly_ helping me find a good doctor," she finished.

"Why's your brother sick?" Chloey asked, looking concerned.

Emily shook her head slightly. "It's not exactly... He's not sick anymore, but he was, a while ago, and it... wasn't good for him."

"Is he okay now?"

"To some degree, to some degree no. He's brain damaged."

Chloey shook her head. "That isn't fair," she said. "My older sister had a car accident, and the doctors said she'd have been brain damaged for the rest of her life, if she hadn't died. It's just not fair."

"I'm sorry," Emily told her. "For... for involving you in my crap. I should have... shut up."

Chloey shook her head quickly. "That's okay. It's okay. I don't get to talk about it much. My mom... sorta doesn't like talking about it. I guess she would sorta rather pretend Marla's still out there, you know, alive, still working away on her degree, and that she'll come home one day with a fancy job and... and... I don't know. A nice boyfriend."

"What can I get you today?" a young woman behind the counter asked them.

Chloey grinned. It was nice, for a change, being the one _asked_ that, not having to be the one asking it. "A regular strawberry shake and a regular chocolate shake."

"What's your brother's name?" she asked, when they had found seats at a table with a large sticker of a donut on the tabletop.

"Geronimo," Emily said.

"That's a really cool name!" Chloey said enthusiastically.

"He is really cool, my little brother," Emily said, and sipped her milkshake. She didn't want to start crying in front of this kid, especially not now that she'd learned she'd lost her older sister just recently.

"If you don't have anywhere to stay, or anything," Chloey finally said, "cos you're just visiting town, you could come 'round to my place, and I'd let you stay, for a couple of days."

"No; no, I'm alright," Emily said, smiling.

"You're not staying with the creep?" Chloey asked, her eyes wide with concern.

"No. No..."

Chloey went to drop her paper cup in the bin, and came back over. Leaning closer, she gave Emily a hug. "Okay. But if you... if you wanna talk, or anything," she got a purple Post-it out of her handbag, and scrawled down her number, "here's my number. Just in case."

"Thank you," Emily said. "Unfortunately, my cell phone's MIA."

Chloey grinned. "That's okay," she said, and sat down to scribble something down in her a notepad she'd extricated from her handbag.

Emily went to dispose of her empty milkshake cup. When she got back, Chloey handed her a folded up piece of paper from her notepad. "For you," she said.

Emily took the piece of paper without unfolding it. She had a feeling Chloey would prefer her to look at it when she was gone.

"Then... I'll see you 'round," Chloey said. "Thanks for the milkshake, Emily."

"Thanks for the company."

Chloey laughed.

"Bye," Emily said.

"Bye."

Emily watched the girl walk off, waiting until she couldn't see her anymore, until she unfolded the piece of note paper, and read, in her mind:

_Itsy bitsy bitty bo_

_Keep me safe_

_From nasty foe_

_Bluebells, daffodils, and bay_

_Keep me safely_

_Out of harm's way_

_People who prey_

_On others hurtfully_

_Will get theirs back_

_One day._

She smiled. If only that was true, she thought.


	4. Chapter 4

Lyle stopped around the corner and leant back against the wall to answer his cell phone, playing _On Top of Old Smoky_, the ring tone he'd assigned to Raines's cell number.

"Your sister's getting antsy," Raines told him. "She's asking why you'd need time off work; you don't do anything at work, anyway, she says."

"Ain't that just cute," Lyle replied. "Misses me, I suppose." He laughed. "Nuh-ah. Suspects a conspiracy, more like. That's our Sassy girl. Fashionably paranoid. Nah, don't worry about me. I'm good. Word of advise, Sassy: If you want a straight answer, don't send someone else off to ask your questions for you. She can ring me herself, if she likes. She's got my number. She asks you again, you tell her I said that, too. She can get as mad as she likes; it ain't gonna help her any."

"I'm not someone's Goddamn secretary," Raines told him. "Phone her yourself; don't perpetuate her behaviour, you'll only be condoning it, in her mind. Call her up and tell her it's none of her business, your business. And, whilst your about it, you can tell her to get off my case and give it a rest with the continual glaring."

"Am I your secretary now? Why don't you tell her yourself?"

"It's your fault she's glaring at me, that's why! She thinks I'm in on... whatever evil scheme you're involved in now!"

"I'm on vacation," Lyle replied. "That girl!"

"For God's sake! She's a woman, not a girl!" Raines told him.

Lyle narrowed his eyes, glaring suspiciously at the wall. "That woman!" he said.

Raines sighed heavily. "How is it that, without even being in the same room, without even _speaking to each other_, you two always find some way to start another Goddamn argument!"

Lyle shrugged, dropping the glare. "It's a twin thing," he said. "You wouldn't understand."

Raines laughed. "Call her! Get her off my back!" With that, he hung up.

Lyle blinked, unimpressed. "What's his problem. Sheesh." He keyed in speed dial number 1, and pressed Call, and hummed _The Way of Love_, the ring tone he'd assigned to Miss Parker's cell number.

"What the fuck do you want, you fuck?"

He smiled. "Sas. Heya! I'm good, too, so nice of you to ask! Dad says you should quit with the dark looks; he doesn't trust you and those witchy powers of yours. So just stop, and I'll quit callin' you. Yeah?"

"No!" she growled.

He laughed. "I'm on vacation, Sis. What's the big deal?"

"No, you're going behind my back to find Jarod yourself!" she spat menacingly.

He shook his head, smiling. "Look, I thought I'd check out that T-Corp conference, alright. Does that answer your question? It'll be interesting to hear their side of the story on ISPs. After all, they tell us Mom was an ISP."

"Hhh!" She laughed.

"You could be my Plus One, if you'd like," he suggested.

"In your dreams, sicko!" she hissed venomously, and hung up.

He put his phone away. "No, I didn't think so," he said to no-one.

.

"As loathe as I am to admit it, I need your help contacting Jarod," Emily declared, stepping into his path as he rounded the corner, a paper cup in hand.

He stepped back from her sharply, then quickly amended the look on his face to resemble shock a little less. Where in the blazes had she come from? "No," he said, simply.

"Why?" she asked.

"No can do,' he replied. "Can't go back on a promise. Don't much see why I should; what's in it for me. Parker finds out, that's it; I'm done for, in her books. You think I want to fuck up my last chance with her? If I don't have her, what have I got? She's my sister, for fuck sake!"

"What about my brother?" Emily hissed hotly. "You said... it was in your best interest, too!"

He frowned. "Did I? Gosh, I must've been on some fucked up shit to say that."

Emily edged forward a step. "I thought it was to impress me," she said daringly, "to make me think you were really a good guy, underneath."

He made a face. "You?" He laughed, looking away from her. "Yeah. No. No. Why would I care what you thought of me, Russell?"

"I... I thought you might find it fantastically funny, say it worked out. Jarod, he'd be real mad. Even... even if he didn't find out, it would still be funny. Maybe even funnier. Only an idiot wouldn't know what was going on in their own family; only an idiot would be that self-assured, to assume they were in control of the situation."

"Your brother's not an idiot," Lyle replied. "He's one track because that's how someone else wanted it to be, to maintain control over him. We all start out that way; we can't escape it when we're born into it, when everyone we know is one track, too. Speaking from a viewpoint concerned purely with knowledge accumulated, he's far from an idiot. Your brother's not a naive boy. Idealistic, maybe, but not naive. If there's something he feels he should know, he knows how to go about finding out what he wants to know. Like any of us, he's well trained. He knows how to fit in, and how to do what's asked of him well enough not to cast suspicion on him. Suspicion can be a dangerous thing; it can get you killed, if you're unlucky, if your attention strays for just a second."

He shrugged. "But enough about him. Did you really think I was that desperate to win your approval, to Read you? You're not that important, frankly, and you're sure as Hell not that cute. For another thing, you're not my type. But you knew that already, didn't you? You thought I'd be sucked in by the challenge. Thought you'd be able to draw me into your little spider's web, didn't you? Uh-uh-ah. I don't play other people's games; I make my own games, and other people play _them_. I won't play your pawn just to please you, Emily. I've done my part, I got you on the right track; what you do next is up to you."

Emily turned away from him, upset. She couldn't believe she'd just humiliated herself like that for nothing!

Lyle sighed. "Oh, come on!"

She shook her head. He could go to Hell!

"Don't tell me you hate me now," he said. "You know I'm not going to believe you ever felt otherwise." He walked up behind her and put a hand on her arm. "What if I could help you get in touch with your brother. What would be in it for me?"

She spun back around. "I'll stop blocking your Voices," she said, her eyes glimmering.

He smiled. "No, you won't," he replied. "You don't know how it works, yourself. Not even you could switch it off, just like that. If you could, you would have already done so; you would have chosen the extent to which you wanted to block me. If you wanted to share a little and try to trick me into thinking I could Read you. But you can't." He touched her hair. "You don't know how dangerous that little ability of yours is, for someone like you. Amongst all of the others, you stand out. You're different. Even I don't block everything. You can't do that. It doesn't have to be particularly relevant to anyone but you, it doesn't even have to be real, but you've got to give them something. Even if it's just your feelings on the weather. You can't single yourself out like that."

He put his hand back down. "But don't worry. Thompson's purely a Healer. He wouldn't have tried to Read anything from you without asking first. Healer etiquette. It was enough for him that he could feel you were alive. He doesn't seem to work with any other Possessors. Likes to feel special, I guess. But if you were ever to run into an ISP or an Empath, they'd know at once you were a Possessor. That, would be a problem.

He put a hand on her arm. "I suspect it's temporary and not lasting. A reaction to a recent trauma. The tests they were running on you in that clinic, for instance. Hopefully, it will pass. Then, anyone who wants to, will be able to Read you. With a little luck, you'll be able to limit the degree to which they can Read you, so that they can only glean what you allow them to. They probably won't even know you're blocking them, then."

He sighed. "The first time I met you, I think it's fair to say it was fairly much like that. I didn't think much of it, at the time, because we only met briefly." He thought for a moment. "I got that you were a journalist, an only child, your father wasn't around much when you were growing up; you were working on a story you thought was fairly important. But then, every story was important, to you. So, you took your job seriously. You were young, idealistic. A bit of a workaholic, perhaps. Good with people, as a rule, but lacking confidence in intimate personal relationships due to inexperience. A pretty regular girl, in other words.

"But that's enough of that. How exactly do you see me as... as helping you? If I'd been able to find Jarod by now, trust me, I would have already. What's the plan, huh?"

Emily's frown didn't shift. For a moment, she was silent, thinking things through. "Your Voices told you all that?"

He sighed. "Some, some of it was pretty evident. People are basically pretty predictable; not that hard to understand, if they work anything like the rest of us do. Which, most of us do. We fit in; we conform. There's a couple of things you get used to looking out for, the cues. You get talking, you see what sort of stuff people give away about themselves without really realising they're giving anything away. But you know that, don't you."

"I didn't think I was that transparent," she said. "That easy to read."

"Take it as a positive thing," he said. "It's an advantage, in this world. The more people think they know about you, the less questions they ask, the less you have to give away. The less they question you. If you're just another clone, they're happy. You can be a real asshole, but they don't care. You toe the line, they'll be your best bloody friend and look the other way. You can do that, you're in with a head start. Story of my life." He sighed. "You know what, what the Hell! You're a pretty girl. Not my type, but a pretty girl, all the same. I can make an exception for a pretty girl."

She rolled her eyes, and flinched when he patted her cheek.

"I can do that, for you."

She put out her hand, to his confusion.

Shrugging the aside the strange behaviour, he took her hand, shaking it.

She didn't like it, but she really needed his help. Left on her own, she could spend years trying to track down Jarod, and years missing him, without even knowing it. Somehow, she needed to relax enough to let Lyle's Voices help her remember how to contact Jarod. It was going out on a limb, but if one of those Voices was Catherine, she trusted that Cathy wouldn't tell him any more than he absolutely _needed_ to know.

But first, she had to do her part.

.

The hotel, she expected. He hated it; he kept that quiet. He hated the noise, the constant interference to the universe's peaceful, rejuvenating energies, butting in here, butting in their, all of that _noise_! He felt ill. He was glad she was there, though. Not glad that she was sharing in on the radiation, or the bad energy, but glad she was there, merely. He might have been merely glad that he wasn't alone, that the city was full of people, going about their lives, not looking at him but not pushing him away, either. But he wasn't. He hardly noticed all of those other people; he was just so tired.

But he noticed her.

She made him want to... to bloody bother feeling something. It had hurt him, to be away from Mel. Really hurt him. It was funny, but he could hardly handle it. They'd been together, in spirit, if nothing else, for their whole lives... and now, he was alone. The loneliness of it, of being apart from someone he loved as much as he loved his Mel, was awful.

But it wasn't even that, because he wasn't alone. Not really. It was Mel! It was Mel; Mel, missing.

He didn't want anyone else - he just wanted Mel! He wanted his Mel. Not some... other person. Who could ever replace Mel, in his heart? The thought, alone, that he was expected to fill Mel's spot in his heart with somebody new, just like that, if she couldn't, was enough to make him want to be ill.

He wasn't rejecting the whole human race, or even the world. He didn't want to die. He just wanted Mel. Why was that so hard a concept to grasp? Mel was Mel and anyone else would be just anyone else, would never be Mel.

_You're a child_, he argued with himself. Like he thought the world was as easy as _I want it_, and there it was, there it must have been, just waiting. Waiting for him. But shit didn't work like that, the world was the world, not hard or cruel or mean, not even unfair, just the world. What we made it. Always, a compromise. Because people couldn't have it any other way. They thought competition, not co-operation; thought me, not we.

He really was having some kind of crisis, wasn't he? He couldn't think what else it could be. After all the years he'd spent, all the years telling himself it was okay, it was necessary. And now, he couldn't stand anything. People always said, when you got to a certain age, you shouldn't have needed bother with all that shit, but he just _couldn't_! Years of conditioning, gone all out the window! Wasted! Years of betraying himself (his brothers and sisters), to see it all come to this; to see it all come undone. What had the use been, really! The years had come and gone, and he'd not ended up there, where he'd imagined (idealistically) he'd be. Some people went mad, just because of that. Him, he didn't know what he'd do.

He could play the same old game, or he could change things. He could try, at least. Throw it all away and start from the beginning, try to get it right, right from the start. Throw away all of the attachments he'd made (all the people he cared for, wouldn't care about tomorrow), and pretend, yes, he was strong, yes, strong enough to let go of the past, let go of it all, and start anew; strong enough to pretend he'd never been hurt before, and could ignore all that, all that that wasn't right. Only see the good.

No, he couldn't do that, he conceded. He wasn't that person, just as Jarod wasn't. They could take everything else away from him, but they couldn't take that. They could change who he was (he'd even let them, survival mechanism, and all), but he'd never give that up. Never give up the past, never give up his whole life. For a fresh start, a second chance, it didn't matter. It would never happen.

He went to bed, wondering why he was just the same, wondering why it hurt him; should have been glad, should have felt some kind of comfort, comradeship. But you don't listen! You don't listen to me, brothers and sisters! None of us, none of us do! Why? Why? Why did that hurt? Who did he think he was, that he deserved a voice any more than anyone else? But why? Why didn't we all deserve a voice? Why was the same hurtful, terrifying? Why did it mean _I'm nothing_ and not _I'm something_.

He closed his eyes, wishing he could just block it all out, wishing he could just sleep. That was all he wanted. To sleep. To find reprieve, for a couple of hours. To not have to think, constantly. Constantly, about painful things. Things like me and you and us, things like unity and harmony and peace and understanding, things that should have been happy, but just left you wondering: Were we all really living in this world together? Were we all really equal in a world that shunned equality because it just didn't bring in the dough.

He sat up, his hands shaking. He had to... he had to go to the bathroom. The light was loud, it would mean something to focus on. He'd fall asleep, eventually. And if it wasn't the sort of thing people regularly did, he didn't give a damn what regular people did. If he'd been one of them, really, he'd have resorted to drugs (prescription or illicit, it barely mattered), alcohol and cigarettes, to anything at all, but things like that just made him sick, just reminded him that he wasn't like the rest of them. Why! Fuck, why! Why was he always left out? Why did he always feel disconnected, in some way? He was always trying so hard, to feel a part of the rest of them, and, in a way, he did feel a part of them, but a part of him always still hung back, a part of him hesitated, remained distant. You couldn't have it both ways; you couldn't be a part of it and criticise it, and say, _Hang on, that's not the way it should be done._ If you did, you weren't one of the group, anymore. The key to happiness was simple, wasn't it: Look out for you; sure, your neighbours your neighbour, but they're not you.

To a degree, everyone had to separate themselves from the group, had to be a group of their own, an entity of their own where the rules weren't quite the same.

He switched on the white-bright bathroom light, closed the door, and sat down in a corner. After all, it was basic training, for Empaths. _Know them, know you. You are not them, they are not you. You are one, but you are not one. You are always two, even when you're one_. All successful Empaths knew this. _You are you._

It was the game. The game of pretending, of lying. The game could kill you. Better to not know any different, better to believe the game the real, and the rest the untrue; better to live. There came a point, in life, when the game lost its glamour, lost its allure. When you came to hate the game, and it came to hate you.

_There is no game. For tonight, the game doesn't matter; the game doesn't exist. There is no game._

He wouldn't cry. He closed his eyes. _There is no game._

.

Thirstiness woke Emily in the middle of the night, and she walked to the kitchenette to pour herself a glass of cool, refreshing water. Her throat felt better, after the water. She could sleep again.

She glanced around the desolate kitchenette, taking in the room and its expensive things, the clean, modern look of it.

She rubbed her cheek with a hand, and headed in the other direction. Maybe they had some complimentary moisturiser in the bathroom; she hadn't looked. She always took a shower in the morning, after she'd run. It woke her up.

When she'd come in, first, her eyes had taken in all of the immediate stuff, how cool and flash and rich people everything looked, but she'd refrained from really checking the place out any deeper than that. It was so little-kids-getting-up-to-mischief, and she was a fully grown woman, not some little kid anymore, not some little idiot who couldn't keep her hands to herself, even for her own safety.

Maybe, she just hadn't wanted to look like a nosy little child in front of Lyle. She hadn't wanted to make him nervous, make him think she could be a problem, cataloguing everything for future reference the way Jarod did. Besides, she thought to herself, she had been trying quite hard to impress him in one specific way, and distract him from any ulterior motives she might have had, but, apparently, she wasn't his type, and he just didn't step outside of his 'type', at all. Still, she hadn't given up on the idea, altogether.

She couldn't find Jarod herself, but if he really was going to help her, she needed to be ready with a back-up plan, in case Catherine shared a little too much, and it became a danger that he might be able to bring her brothers back in. In that eventuality, she needed him on her side, not the company's. If there was a way, a way to sway him to her side, she would find it. She would stop at nothing, from now on, she promised herself. She'd be nice, from now on. She wouldn't call him names, or look at him with hate in her eyes, or lose control and resort to violence. She was a woman, she had other weapons at her command, she had other means to persuade people to her cause.

And she fully intended on using those means.

After all, it was just a game. She'd played so many games, as a girl. She could handle it, if it was a game. She could even smile, once in a while, when she won a little victory for the cause. Sure, she could do it.

.

Underneath the door, she saw that the bathroom light was on. Whether it had been left on, or not, she couldn't know. She listened at the door. Was Lyle talking to his evil little friends in there? But she couldn't hear anything.

She stepped back from the door, and pretended to stub her toe on the door in the dark. She needed to give him a chance to make like he wasn't really talking himself up to his friends, saying how good he was, to have come so far with her, so quickly.

Wincing at the pain in her toe, she grabbed the handle and opened the door.

She narrowed her eyes, and walked across the room, carefully, not to make a ruckus, or hurt her toe again. She knelt down beside him, but he still didn't open his eyes. He was alive, it looked like, so that wasn't the problem. He was breathing alright.

She thought, then, that maybe he'd taken too many pills, and reached for his wrist, feeling for a pulse. It was there. She wasn't an expert, but it felt okay. She put his hand back down, and felt her own, just for comparison's sake.

No, it felt normal.

"Can you hear me?" she asked, finally.

He opened his eyes. "What time is it?"

She frowned, blinking. "I don't know. It's late."

"It's still night?"

She put a hand to his head. "Is it your arm? Was it hurting? You can't just take painkillers like candy. They're a prescription medicine."

"Why did you wake me up?" he asked, sounding upset. She was mean. She'd come in here and woken him up.

She shook her head and stood up, putting out her hand to pull him to his feet. "Come on. Get up. Back to bed."

He closed his eyes again, pretending she hadn't spoken.

She bent down and grabbed his hand. "Get up."

"Back to bed," he told her, frowning at her.

She tugged on his hand. "You can't sleep in here."

"It's none of your business where I sleep," he told her. "Go back to bed yourself."

She sighed, slouching, and sat down beside him. "If you're staying, I'm staying, too," she said.

He put his hands over his face. "Go away."

"No," she said. "I'm lonely."

"Good," he murmured. "Go and be lonely on your own."

She shrugged. "Nah."

He shook his head, fed up with her antics, and got to his feet.

She jumped up beside him. "Are you going?"

He ignored her and walked out, closing the door after him.

She bounded to the door and pulled it open, flicking the light switch to Off, and slipped out into the other room. "Can't I sleep with you?" she asked. "I had a scary dream, and I can't stand scary dreams. I never want to go back to sleep, when I have a nightmare. I can't help it. I hate bad dreams."

He stopped in the doorway to the bedroom he'd taken, and sighed heavily. "Just put the radio on, or something. Listen to some music until you fall asleep."

"I can't sleep, when I listen to music."

He made a face. "Why are you doing this to me?"

"Doing what?" she stormed hotly. "I'm not doing anything! I had a bad fucking dream! It freaked me out! Just because you never have nightmares doesn't mean no-one else does!"

He sighed, again, and walked over. He pulled her into his arms. "You had a bad dream; it really freaked you out. Okay, I believe you. It was just a dream. If something happens in your dream that you don't want, you just say so. You say, 'No, it's my dream.' And you change it. 'It's my dream', hmmm?"

She pulled a face, glowering at the wall. What was she, five years old?

"It's my dream..."

She huffed. "It's my dream," she repeated. "I can change it."

"That's right. You can change it."

She dropped her shoulders. "It doesn't work."

"It will. It will," he told her. "You have to work on it."

She pulled away from him, pouting badly. "What's the use of that?" she complained.

He sighed. "Oh fine! But if you talk in your sleep, I'm waking you up and you're going back to your own bed."

She poked her tongue out at him. "I don't talk in my sleep."

He frowned. "How would you know?"

She pulled a face. "I'd know. Shut up. If you talk in your sleep," she pointed a finger at him, "I'll send you back to the bathroom! The hall! I'll send you out to the hall, and you can sleep there!"

"Oh good," he said. "Then I'll be able to get away from you."

She glared at him, making a mean face, scrunching up her mouth.

He nodded. "Are you trying to give me nightmares too? Sharing is not caring, no matter what they say."

"It is too!" she debated, pointing a finger at him accusingly.

"Really. That's why people get so huffy when their partner, completely by accident, of course, shares their VD with them."

Emily ran over to the bed and leapt onto the mattress, seizing the pillow and stuffing it over her head. "You're gross and horrible!" she cried, muffled, from under the pillow.

"I'm sure," he said.

"I'm traumatised!" Emily whined.

He ignored her and crossed to the cupboard, taking out another pillow and a blanket for her.

She rolled over onto her back and pushed the pillow away from her. "Never say that again."

"Say what again?" he asked. "'I'm sure'?"

She growled. "Don't say it!"

He shrugged. "Go to sleep." He walked over and dropped the folded up blanket he'd gotten from the cupboard on her.

She glared at him. "Mean person!" She stood up, on the mattress, and shook out the blanket.

"Sit. Sit," he told her.

She poked her tongue out at him, and grabbed her pillow. "Go to sleep!" she said.

"That's what I'm doing," he said, sitting down on the other side of the mattress.

She lay down and turned her back on him, poking her tongue out at the wall, just because. He was starting to annoy her. According to him, Miss Parker wasn't his type, either, but he was constantly being inappropriate with her when she didn't even want it! Here she was, going out of her way to make him notice her as a woman, and all he did was act like she was some annoying little kid comparable with his best friend's kid sister.

It bugged her.

She waited until he'd turned out the light, before she turned back around. "Are you sleeping?" she asked.

"What do you think?" he asked dully.

"Can I sleep next to you?"

"Isn't that what you're already doing?" he asked.

"No, I'm already practically falling off the bed! Don't be mean. Can I, or not?"

"It's up to you."

She shuffled closer.

"Try not to hit me."

"I don't hit people in my sleep," she replied supremely. "I don't talk in my sleep, I don't kick people; I'm great to sleep with."

"And don't bite me."

She coughed.

"Bad dreams freak you out," he reminded her.

"I'll try not to," she replied. "But I don't make any guarantees."

"What?" he demanded, sitting up suddenly.

She shrieked.

He sighed. "Zip it. I'm not doing anything to you."

"It's dark," she defended. "I couldn't be sure. I don't want to go out. I wanna stay here."

"Then go to sleep."

"Then stop talking," she muttered.

He laughed. "Go to sleep."

"Stop talking."

She waited until he's laid back down and felt the mattress, feeling for his arm. She inched closer, and rested her head against his arm. "Good night."

"Stop talking," he replied.

She prodded him in the arm, and smacked a hand over her mouth. "Is that your sore arm?"

"Good night," he said, forcibly.

"Can you sing me something?" she asked quietly. "Kyle's favourite song?"

"Sing it yourself," he said.

"I don't know it."

"Sure you don't," he muttered, and sighed, trying to remember how it went.

Emily closed her eyes and smiled.

.

She woke, suddenly, in the morning, and glanced across at Lyle. He was holding her hand, resting on his chest.

She scrunched up her face, and grinned. "Blue moon, you saw me standing alone, without a dream in my hear-"

"You're murdering it!" Lyle whined. "Stop. Please stop."

"Mean person," she sniffed.

"Thank God," he muttered.

She sat up, yanking her hand away from him, and smacked him in the arm gently. "You're mean."

He sighed and opened his eyes, sitting up. "Race you to the elevator!"

She shrieked and leapt off the bed, pelting for the door.

.

She planted herself in front of the elevator doors proudly, hitting the button to hail the carriage, and spun around when she heard someone else coming. She pointed to herself, pleased as anything, and mouthed, "I win!"

Lyle rolled his eyes, pretending not to care.

When the elevator came, she rushed inside first and started singing along to a popular song that had been playing on the radio a lot recently. Her eyes drifted down to her feet, and she gasped. "You made me forget!" she howled, making a face at her bare feet.

He smiled.

"Country bumpkin!" she snapped, pursing her lips.

"Tinker Bell's human cousin!"

She opened her mouth, staring. "That's just... _Disney_!" She burst out laughing, obviously in over exaggerated amusement, and pressed a hand to her stomach.

He rolled his eyes and pinched a lock of her hair.

She slapped his hand away, her eyes narrowed warily. "Hands off the hair!"

"You're right," he said. "You must be Pippi Longstocking's cousin, instead. Tink's blonde. That," he nodded, "'s not blonde. It's not even close. It's..." He laughed. "Fanta!"

"You suck," she told him.

He glared at her.

Her eyes widened. The second the doors opened, she lurched out of the elevator and sprinted for the main doors. "Fanta power, yeah!"

He cracked up.

.

She waited at the bottom of the steps for him to catch up, and punched him in the arm (the left, which she hadn't stabbed).

She grinned and raced away from the steps, heading across the grass for the front gates.

He took off after her. She might have won inside, and only because of all those annoying corridors, but she wouldn't win out here.

She glanced behind her and shrieked. Crap, he was gaining on her. She put in an extra effort. She was going to win. Then she'd win on the way back, too. Hat trick. She focussed on her goal: the main gate. She was almost there.

She screamed. Ugh!

"I got you. I won't let go," Lyle said, holding her tightly around the waist.

"No, let me go!" she hollered. "I win!" She pinched his leg and broke free, pelting forward. She smacked into the gates, jumping up and down. "I win!"

"Cheater," he said, walking over.

She widened her eyes, leaning forward. "Rematch."

He shook his head, "Nah," and smiled suddenly, racing back towards the building.

"Grr!" she screamed, and ran after him. What a cheater!

.

Emily sighed, collecting the towel from the room she'd left her things in, but hadn't slept in, and picked at her tracksuit, trying to decide what to wear for the remainder of the day. She needed pyjamas, she thought, bringing the towel up to her face to smell. It didn't smell like much of anything.

She headed for the bathroom and shut the door after her, grabbing all of the little bottles and opening their lids, smelling each of them; shampoo, conditioner, shower gel.

She stretched her arms out and checked out her complexion in the mirror. When she got her pyjamas, she'd have to remember to get face cream. Nivea, or something.

"I'm done," she said, walking into the kitchenette after she'd had her shower, and plonked herself down in a chair, reaching for a mug of coffee on the table. "Sorry, but I used all of those little plastic bottled things," she told him, "kind of. I mean, I did." She took a sip of her drink. "Mmm, so how are we gonna track Jarod down?"

"Finish your coffee first," he told her. "Give it some thought."

She grabbed a biscuit in one of those little single serve packets from the benchtop and took a seat on the tabletop, sipping her coffee and waiting for her hair to dry.

When he'd finished with his shower and they'd had breakfast, she'd ask him if there were other people like her, other people who could do the same thing she could. Surely, she wasn't the only one.

.

She walked back into the bedroom to fold the blankets up and put them on the end of the bed, and neaten up the room, even though it looked pretty much as it had before, when they'd first saw it.

She sighed, feeling if her hair was dry - nope - and frowned at the bracelet on the night stand. She walked over and sat down on the side of the bed, picking the bracelet up and squinting down at it.

Was it Asian, or what? It looked kinda tribal, or was that surfer dude? It was old, she decided. The beads, which were made out of wood, were pretty old. It was probably secondhand, or antique. She didn't know why Lyle would want something that was secondhand unless it was antique and had some kind of value, so when other people looked at it, they'd go, "Ah," and they'd be impressed, or something like that.

She didn't have anything old like that, or antique; nothing that was a family heirloom. She barely had a family, she reflected. Thanks to the Centre. Thanks to Lyle, she reminded herself.

She slipped the bracelet over her hand and tightened it so it wouldn't slip off, dropping her hand and staring at it. Did it suit her? Why did he have it? It was kind of weird looking.

"Can I borrow your tribal bling bling?" she asked, when he came back into the room, twisting her wrist about to indicate the bracelet she was wearing.

He frowned. "It's all yours," he replied, a moment later.

She smiled, and patted her hair. It still wasn't dry. "Sh-! How's your arm?" she asked suddenly.

"Getting there," he said simply. "There's a hair dryer in there, you know."

Her eyes widened. "No! I'm gone!" She pelted to the door, and sprinted to the bathroom. It was tucked away in the cupboard under the sink, which was why she hadn't seen it; she hadn't looked there, she'd supposed it would just be pipes under the sink and nothing much else.

She stood in front of the mirror, drying her hair with the electric hair dryer and thinking about breakfast.

.

They took breakfast in the hotel restaurant. She picked at a piece of bacon she was holding in one hand, very unladylike, and stared at the other piece on her plate. "So there's other people like me, right?" she said, looking up, finally, from her plate.

Lyle frowned. "Of course there is. What did you think, you were special? A world first? The only one on the planet? Nothing like that."

She made a face. "I am special, Dumbo! I am the only one on the planet like me! I am a world first!"

"Whatever spanks your poodle," he replied.

She choked on her piece of bacon, her eyes going wide.

He passed her her glass of cold water. He wasn't about to go on any further about 'people like her'. He'd wanted her to stay out of it; unfortunately, it didn't look like it was going to go down that way. But that didn't mean he was going to give her any more reason to jump in and join the club.


	5. Chapter 5

"I do know how to contact Jarod. He told me, and I know, I just... _can't remember_!"

"Which doesn't help me, a heck of a lot, I'm afraid, darl," Lyle replied.

"What about hypnosis?" she asked.

"No. Doesn't work on... your type."

"My type?" she shot.

"People like what you are."

"People like what I am, who presumably have a name!"

"No, you're right. People with abilities such as your own. _What_ sounds... mechanical. Like you're... a machine, not a... living thing."

She glared at him. "What are people like me called?"

"I dunno. I forget," he replied evasively. "Your journalistic skills don't run to mind-reading, I suppose?"

She threw him a glare.

"Well, then, I can't help you there."

"You know all right!" she scowled.

"Maybe I do, maybe I don't. But I'm not telling you."

"Why?"

"Shit, here's a question: Why don't you quit hassling me and ask _Jarod_ - when you find him!"

"Fuck you!"

"Minus... that." He put a hand to his face suddenly, looking pained, but, a second later, it had been replaced by a look of anger as he shot to his feet.

Emily frowned, trying to follow his gaze, but there was no-one there, just as there had been no-one there a minute ago, two minutes ago, however long ago they'd been sitting in their hotel room. She stopped frowning. If he was having some kind of mentally-ill person episode, she didn't want to get mixed up in it.

He was saying something in French which she didn't understand, but took to mean that he was really pissed off. The really creepy thing was when he growled. It didn't sound like a normal human growl. Far from it.

Wincing, she forced herself to stand up. Her legs felt sort of shaky; any shaky, she didn't like at all; sort of shaky, she hated. Slowly, she moved around the table, towards Lyle. "Are you-"

He turned to look at her, abruptly, and she stumbled back. Okay, that wasn't normal! The teeth, and- No way in Hell was that normal.

He looked at the floor quickly. "My apologies, sister."

"Is that... the anomaly, too?" she asked shakily, wanting to take a whole heap more steps back - or run out of the room - but staying exactly where she was. She didn't like how his voice had sounded, suddenly. She forced herself to press on, only just noticing that his fingernails looked much more like claws: sharp, shiny, black claws. "Why you... look like that?"

"Yes. The anomaly," he said, keeping his eyes on the floor.

At first, she thought maybe it was because he hadn't wanted to look at her, to scare her, or because he was worried looking at her might... make him hungry, but then she realised it probably wasn't any of those things. It was probably because, for reasons unknown, his eyes had changed colour. Not to black, or red, or anything scary like that, but to brown. Ordinary, un-scary brown.

"Are you angry at me?" she asked, not able to steady her voice. Fuck, she was trying real fuckin' hard, but that thing was just... fucking scary!

"No."

"There's no-one else in the room," she told him.

"No."

She frowned. No, there was, or no, there wasn't?

For a couple of moments, he looked like he was contemplating smiling, but, a second later, decided it probably wouldn't reassure her at all, and turned away quickly.

"If there's-"

He turned back around. "I'm not mad at you."

She narrowed her eyes, inching forward. At least he sounded normal again. She frowned at the red mark on his face, confused. There hadn't been anyone around to hit him.

He sighed, and smiled. "I think I need a coffee. Can I get you one... too?"

Unless it had been someone she couldn't see, someone like Jacob... Someone dead, she thought, with a chill. She smiled quickly, her voice too cheerful: "Yes, thank you! That would be great!"

"I'll just be... that..." He walked off hurriedly, to the counter to get the electric kettle and fill it with water.

She sat back down, in her chair, suppressing a sigh. She just had to... to pretend like everything was fine; that was what she had to do. She frowned at the bracelet on her wrist; she suddenly didn't feel like wearing it anymore. Suddenly, she didn't even feel like much sticking around. She could... she could always tell him, no, she'd changed her mind. Brain damage wasn't really that urgent, was it? She'd find Jarod on her own. She could always tell him that...

"I'm sorry if I upset you," he said, setting a cup of coffee on the table in front of her. "It won't happen again."

.

Parker bit back a sob, her face stinging hotly. Tears welled in her eyes, and her bottom lip was trembling, but she couldn't allow herself to cry. In her best level voice, she forced herself to say, "I'm sorry. I was out of line," though she didn't mean it. Not fucking at all. If she could have, she'd have pulled out her Smith & Wesson and blown the fucking bastard's head off for fucking daring to raise a hand to her, but the Chairman was counting on her not to muck this up, not to muck up their chance of receiving this funding, and so she swallowed that urge, told herself she was being a baby, justified or not, and apologised.

Nodding shortly, she turned and walked away, her hands shaking uncontrollably. She forced herself not to go back and give that asshole a piece of his own medicine, and kept walking. _Coffee_, she told herself firmly. _Have a fucking coffee and calm down! We need this funding._

Pouring herself a coffee, she found a seat and sat down, her hands now almost completely steady. She'd been ready to go that guy with just her bare hands, but, just for a fraction of a second, she thought she'd felt something. For a fraction of a second, she'd felt warm again; she'd felt like she wasn't alone... and it had made her stop. Now, even as mad as she was at being mistreated, she almost couldn't stop herself from crying for an entirely different reason.

_It's okay, baby_, she thought. _He didn't mean to hurt me so much as... As stop me. Make me think about what I was saying. I'm- I'm okay. I understand that. It's okay. I'm just mad at him because I don't agree with the line he's toting, with what he's saying, because he hit me, and it hurts, but mostly... I'm mad because I'd like to tell him what I really think of the garbage he's parroting, but I can't. I don't have that authority, my boss does. If I did that, I- I could be in a lot of trouble._

She listened to her breath, trying to steady it, and reached for her drink. She didn't know if what she'd felt was real, if it really had been her real twin - if it really had been Theodore - but she didn't care; she wanted to believe that it had been, and that was what she was going to do. Her twin was alive, and he hadn't forgotten her! She wasn't completely alone.

.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. Mel, please..."

Against her better judgement, Emily glanced across the table at Lyle. What was wrong with him now? She tried not to make a face, or frown. So... so he had been talking to someone. Mel. She frowned, without realising it; she'd remember that. She quickly stopped frowning, kicking herself mentally. What the Hell! Did she always have to be so obvious!

By then, Lyle had stopped mumbling to himself and just looked like he was about to cry. He was staring at the table wildly, like maybe it had some ideas about what to do next, shaking.

Perhaps Mel had been an old girlfriend, Emily thought. An old girlfriend he'd done in. "Hey!" she interrupted.

He looked up from the table, suddenly. "Do you- Do you want sugar?"

"Mel?" The second she'd said it, she wished she could take it back. What the fucking Hell! She really didn't get _Keep a low profile, don't let on_ at all, did she!

"My- my girlfriend," he said quickly. "I forgot... her birthday. It's today!" He smiled shakily. "Oops."

"You're scared of your girlfriend?" she asked, before she could stop herself.

At that comment, something in his eyes changed. He stopped shaking. He was his regular, creepy self again. He didn't look one bit uncertain. "No," he said. "Just... mad at myself for forgetting! I don't usually forget stuff like that."

She didn't know why she said it, but she replied, "No. Now you're just trying to have one over me. Mel isn't your girlfriend at all." Even though it had been her first thought, too, she suddenly realised that... well, she just didn't really feel for the idea anymore.

He laughed. "Oh sure, so Mel's my other little angel then, is she? I don't think I have a daughter, but I may be wrong!" He laughed, shaking his head.

Emily blinked. "Is she okay?" she asked suddenly, sounding far too concerned considering that he'd seconds ago denied that he even had a daughter, though, suddenly, she was sure it was that. Why else would he try and throw her off the trail like that, so obviously?

"Is who okay?" he asked, giving her a funny look. Was _she_ okay?

"Your daughter!"

"I don't have a daughter," he replied, a little more slowly, like maybe she hadn't gotten it the first time he'd said it.

"You're such a liar!"

He sighed. "You're too gullible, Russell. Much too much so. You need to work on that."

She glared at him. "Bullshit! I know something's up. You wouldn't have... gone all were, if it wasn't!"

"Gone where?" he asked, frowning strangely.

"Grr! Werewolf!" she snapped, gesturing with her hand in the air as though it was a claw. "You're worried about her, but you won't admit it because you don't want me to know about her!"

"Not at all," he said. "I don't have a daughter."

"Yes, you do!" she growled. "Her name's Mel!"

He laughed, sighing. "I was playing you, Emily. To see how you'd react."

"I don't believe that," she stated flatly.

"Well, that's your own choice, isn't it."

"No. You were really angry."

"I don't have a daughter," he repeated.

"I don't believe you."

"Then don't."

She stared at him.

He rolled his eyes. "I don't have a daughter. She's not in trouble - because there is no... anyone to be in trouble. It was a game. I was testing you."

Emily tossed her chin. "Don't believe you."

"You know what, Russell, you're a real pain in the ass! Quit acting like such a rabid animal and finish your coffee! We're not here to talk about me, or any imaginary daughters you might fancy I have. We're here to help you find your disappearing brat of a brother - Jarod!"

"Why are you suddenly insulting my brother?" she asked. "Trying to piss me off so I won't see what you're really up to. Changing the topic!"

He sighed heavily. "You're too much sometimes, you know that. Too bloody much!" He nodded. "I'm going for a walk." He stood up.

She jumped to her feet. "If you are, I am too. My legs are getting restless, I need to stretch them. You ring whoever you need to ring," she turned away from him, "I'll just pretend I didn't see."

He shook his head, and headed for the door, annoyed. He only had one person to blame for the mess he was in. Himself!

If he hadn't overreacted like that, just because he'd been able to feel Mel again, if he hadn't freaked out like that, she'd never have started thinking her twin was alive, and everything would be fine. Emily wouldn't be on his case, now, about a daughter he didn't have; he wouldn't be kicking himself for putting Mel in the kind of danger she was now in, she'd still think her 'real' twin was dead, and he'd be able to concentrate on finding Jarod.

Now, if the Tower found out Parker thought her real twin was out there somewhere, and that she could somehow contact him, they'd do anything and everything to track him down. Then, when they'd done that, they'd take her away, too, and make her into one of their little, star Pets, just like they'd wanted to do all along.

All he'd had to do was relax, not freak out, and do what he usually did. She'd never, not once, suspected anything amiss when it had been Catherine reassuring her everything would be okay. Despite her anger at her mother, she'd always still been glad of the reassurance. Now he'd really gone and fucked everything up!

_Good job, Lyle!_ he thought angrily to himself. _Top fucking job, friend!_

If Mel got in trouble with the Tower because of him - Fuck, he couldn't even think about that; not when Reagan was still within their clutches - he'd have to come back and try to bargain with them somehow. He couldn't let them have Mel too. And if they refused to bargain, he'd have to take down the whole fucking company! No choice.

They weren't having Mel.

They could have him, but not Mel! Mel was off-limits. One day, she and Jarod would take the company down for good - _if_ that avenue was still even available! They wouldn't stop the Centre's rivals from running their own shows, but they'd take out one of the major players, and that would be a start. It would be something!

He had to give them that chance. _Nobody_ was touching Mel!

_Fucking calm down!_ he told himself forcefully. _Don't fuck it up any further because you've got a short fuse! Mel knows how to play the game - she's been doing it for years, without you! Get a grip and stick it out, idiot!_

.

Over the years, Jarod had gotten quite proficient at blocking. Though he could feel him - he was alive, seemingly unharmed - Lyle couldn't pinpoint where he was. He couldn't just jot down an address for Emily and say, "Here. Go there. That's where you'll find him."

He hummed Rosanne Cash's _If You Change Your Mind_. "_I can be the one who makes you happy. Call me on the telephone. Darling, I am always home... if you ever change your-_" He noticed Emily giving him a funny look, and fell silent.

"How's your daughter?" she asked.

He rolled his eyes, looking away from her.

"Does your arm still hurt?"

"No," he muttered.

She nodded.

He sighed, and stopped in the middle of the path. "My daughter's dead. Me- Her name was Melisande. She- She just doesn't understand things aren't as easy, in practise, as how she imagines them, theoretically. She gets angry easily."

"How old was she?" Emily asked.

"Eleven."

"How did she die?"

"Anaphylactic shock. She had an allergic reaction."

Emily made a face.

"She got appendicitis and... she needed an operation. She was allergic to the anaesthetic they gave her. It was unfortunate, but..." He sighed. "Shit happens."

Emily shook her head, shocked that he could be so nonchalant about his own daughter's death. Maybe shit did happen, but that didn't mean you couldn't feel mad about it! At least, sad. Heck, she hadn't ever known the kid, and even _she_ was sad as Hell. The simple fact was, kids weren't supposed to die that young.

"Her mom-?"

"An old girlfriend from high school. She's remarried now. Has a couple of kids, I understand. Hates me. Shit, I hate her, too. I only went out with her cos Jimmy wanted to. I was in a shitty mood and I thought it'd make me feel better to make someone else shitty, too."

"Did it work?" Emily asked.

"Obviously, it did."

"Did it make you feel better?" Emily rephrased.

"Not really. But it was something to do."

"So, standard operating procedure for you, huh?"

"Pretty much."

"Mel's mom-"

"Trisha."

"Trisha... wasn't worried at all when your dad went to jail for something he didn't do."

"Not really. She was sorta pissed at Dad for not gettin' together with her mom. Thought he'd leave Martha for her mom. When he didn't, I guess she was pretty mad. Actually, I'm pretty sure that was why she got together with me, in the first place. To get back at Lyle."

Emily sighed. "Why am I even surprised!"

"You expect too much, Russell. Expect people to be human beings. I guess you're still coming to terms with the fact that human beings aren't all they're cracked up to be. They're fucked up, too. They do fucked up with as much ease as they do heartbreak or nicey-nicey. Most of us, it's a bit of a game. Even when we tell ourselves it's not, in the back of our minds, we still expect shit to go our way, whether or not there's any sense to it. You gotta open your eyes and see it like it is, Em. There's stuff to be proud of, stuff to make you happy, and shit that just won't do anyone any good; shit that's damn mean and ugly. That's people for you."

Emily laughed. "I know that."

"Then why do you even- Why do you expect something else?"

"If I didn't, then I'd be just as bad as them," she said, less humourously.

"You mean, you'd be normal; you'd be just like me."

She pointed a finger at him. "That's something that will never happen," she told him.

"Well, we'll see," he replied. "Only time will tell." He went on walking.

She walked after him. He really must have been mad at his daughter for something. He wasn't much of a dad, if he lost his cool that easily, she thought. A chop off the old block, then. His old man all over again.

He started humming _Never Be You_.

"I'm sorry. About you daughter," Emily said.

.

"Are you alright?" Sydney asked, joining Parker at the table.

She lifted her chin. "I'm right. Could do with a stiff drink, but I'm right."

He smiled. Well, if it she'd had a bottle, he wouldn't have argued with that logic.

She smiled, too. Nah, she wasn't alone. She always still had Sydney and Broots. She silently hummed along to the song playing over the PA in the corridor; _Never Be You_, Rosanne Cash.

Likely thanks to Marsh, she thought. Rosanne Cash was one of her favourite singers; it was that time, when you could ring in and suggest a song for the station to play.

Or the Cherryplums. A treat for Marsh's birthday.

She brightened. There'd be cake, later, in Heathrow Lounge. Cake, she could look forward to. She smiled. Cake. Yum. "_He plays the part, but he only has me, he don't have my heart. He could never be you..._"

.

"Sydney!"

Sydney got to his feet, looking very pleased, suddenly.

Parker turned to look at the guy who'd just spoken. She frowned.

"Dr. Bartholomew!" Sydney said.

_The Tool_, Parker thought darkly, looking him up and down. Without his little minion, Randolph, today, she saw. She stood up.

"Lyle," Bartholomew replied, shaking Sydney's hand.

Parker suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. _Argh, puke!_

Bartholomew smiled at her. Obviously, he knew she was Catherine's daughter.

_Typical _Cathy's daughter_ look_, she thought. _Typical jerk._ What Sydney saw in the guy, she couldn't fathom. Nonetheless, Syd was the guy's Number One fan. It made her want to puke, most of the time.

Bartholomew, unfortunately, seemed to give a shit what Sydney thought. If it pleased Sydney, he was happy as Larry; if it pleased Sydney, he made sure to play it up.

Mentally humming Cher's _Dov'è l'Amore_, she imagined a scene from her favourite romance novel series in which Sy and Kathryn managed a conversation without her calling him Twitch even once. She couldn't wait for Darcy's newest novel to come out.

.

"Could I see her?" Emily asked.

Lyle frowned.

"Your daughter," she pressed.

He made a face.

"Can I?"

He looked away from her. "She doesn't like strangers," he said, finally.

"Then can I see Kyle?"

He glanced at her quickly. "No. He's- He moved on," he finished.

She rolled her eyes. "How nice to know," she muttered darkly. "So says you."

"So says I," he replied.

She shook her head. "If I'm blocking all your Voices, then how is it that I was able to see Jacob?"

He frowning, thinking about that. "You have a point," he conceded. "I suppose you didn't feel threatened by Jacob, nor he by you. Nothing to do with me; it was between the two of you."

She scrunched up her face. "How could it have been between the two of us if I couldn't even _see_ him!"

"Subconsciously, I guess," he said, and leant over to take her hands in his. "I doubt Jacob would have known anything about Jarod, and I doubt Mel will know any more, but we can give it a go, I guess."

He closed his eyes, sighing. "Mel. Don't be mad at Daddy, okay. We have a guest, baby."

"Who is she?" a sullen voice asked, behind Emily.

She glanced over her shoulder slowly.

A girl of about eleven made a face at her, morbidly. Her long, dark hair hung limply down about her shoulders, reaching down to her elbows, marred by small nests of tangled clumps. Her face was pale, and spotted with a sprinkling of equally as pale spots. She had good, straight teeth; even teeth. No braces, though. Her eyes, by far, were the strangest thing about her. (Aside from the mop that seemed to be passing as her hairdo.) One was blue, whilst the other was a greyish brown.

"She looks nice," the girl reported, as sullenly as before. "Little brother would like her." She picked at Emily's hair. "It looks like his." She directed her gaze to Lyle's. "Are you keeping her?"

He frowned. "Mel, she's a person; she's not a toy. I can't just decide to keep her, or not."

"Why not?" the girl pouted.

"Because she has a life of her own."

Melisande turned back to Emily and looked her up and down morbidly. "I don't see it," she said. She tossed her chin. To Emily, she said, "You free?"

Emily struggled to think of something to say.

"Mel, you're embarrassing yourself," Lyle told her.

The girl reached out a tiny hand and stroked Emily's cheek, excitement leaping into her eyes. She turned to her father, excitedly. "I like her!"

Lyle sighed. "She's not usually like this," he told Emily. "She's just trying to unsettle you. She doesn't know you; you worry her."

Mel glared at him. "I'm not worried about her!" she scowled. "Why don't you want her? She's cute!"

He closed his eyes, briefly. "Mel, can you help us find Emily's brother, Jarod?"

She made a face. "Why would I want to do that?" she scowled. "If I help her find her brother, she'll leave!"

"Her brother's sick, sweetheart," Lyle told her, appealing to her sense of compassion.

She huffed, pushing a mass of tangled hair out of her face. "I don't know anything," she muttered, depressed.

"Are you sure, sweetie?"

"No shit, Sherlock!" she snapped, glaring at him. "I'm gonna kill Dahlia. Mom's always giving her junk, whilst Tannie gets shit all! Will you be my alibi?"

He shook his head. Nope.

She made a face. "You're a real asshole!" she scowled.

"If Tannie thinks it's so unfair, she'll tell her mom," Lyle replied.

"Mom doesn't listen to her!" Mel scowled. "That woman's on crack!"

"She is not," Lyle replied, unimpressed with the kid's language. "And kindly don't refer after your mother as 'that woman'."

"Her husband is!" Mel growled.

"Charming," Lyle replied. "Mel, we'll talk about th-"

"Grandma says you're an asshole," Mel interrupted him. "She reckons I shouldn't talk to you anymore."

"Grandma doesn't know me, baby," he replied.

"She's your mother!" Mel snapped.

"She was," he said. "Does Grandma say anything about your uncle, Ethan?"

She pulled a face. "As if I'd tell you if she did, asshole!"

"Yes or no, sweetheart?"

She rolled her eyes, refusing to say anything.

He sighed. "Uncle Ethan is Emily's brother, too, baby. If she finds Ethan, he'll be able to help her find Jarod."

Mel put her hands over her ears.

"Cut it out, Mel."

"Mel?" Emily implored. "I really, really need to find my brother. My little brother's really sick. I want to help him. Like you want to help Tannie."

Mel looked at her sourly. "If I help you, Dad has to help Tannie."

Lyle laughed. "Mel, this isn't a game!"

"I'm not listening to you," she said, without looking at him. She watched Emily for her response.

Emily glanced at Lyle, then back to the girl. "Help her how, sweetheart?" she asked.

"He has to tell Dahlia to stop being such a bitch to her."

"And what makes you imagine she'll listen to me?" Lyle asked.

Mel narrowed her eyes meanly, still not looking at him. She waited for Emily's reply.

Emily sighed. "Okay," she said finally.

Mel grinned, and leant close to her ear. She whispered Ethan's cell phone number.

Emily frowned, and repeated the number in her head. "Thank you, Mel," she said.

Mel smiled. "That's okay," she said. "I like _you_."

Emily smiled back tentatively.

Mel walked off, past her, and when she turned to watch her go, the girl had already disappeared.

Lyle sighed. "She wasn't like that... before. She was a good kid. What did she tell you?"

Emily shook her head. She didn't feel like telling him.

"Will it help?"

She nodded.

"Okay."

"I hope you keep your promise to that girl," Emily told him.

He rolled his eyes. "I appreciate your confidence in me, Emily," he replied, and got up. He left the room.

Emily got out the cell phone Lyle had allowed her to buy yesterday and punched in the number the girl had given her. She listened to it ringing anxiously.

.

Lyle grabbed the doorhandle with shaking hands, opening the bathroom door. He closed the door behind him, walking to the sink. Peering into the mirror, he noticed how pale he was, suddenly. He felt shaky and hot and cold. He knew he shouldn't have been pushing it like that. At least he'd gotten Ethan's number, he told himself. She'll be able to contact him, now. He just hoped he hadn't hurt Ethan or Parker, in the process. He didn't have a really strong connection with Ethan; Parker did.

He rushed to the sink and threw up. Blood trickled down the drain. He threw up again.

He tried, again, the feel Ethan, even just to feel Parker, but they were gone, now. He sunk to the floor, the pain in his head blocking out everything but a single thought: _How can I help my family if I can't do the one thing I was trained to do, the one thing that makes me worth anything to the company?_

The effort of conjuring Melisande into reality without being able to touch Emily's mind and manipulate her into seeing someone who wasn't there, had almost been too much for him. It wasn't the same as with Jacob; he'd still been a real, a real, living being once. His colony was really taking it out on him now and he had no way of settling it down again.

He had a feeling he wouldn't be around much longer, if he kept this up.

Just then, his epilepsy decided to pitch in for the effort.

He was having a wonderful day, then.

.

Parker blinked slowly, taking a deep breath. Suddenly, it seemed to her, hard to breathe. She took another breath, but the tightness in her chest was already passing, making it easier to breathe. She took a couple of careful breaths.

Sydney frowned at her suddenly, abandoning his conversation with Lyle Bartholomew.

She shook her head at him. She was okay.

He returned to the conversation.

She stood up, giving her legs something to do. For a second, she felt unsteady, dizzy. She picked up her cup and headed off to refill her coffee. She'd had to listen to the Tower's prattle for too long, and now Syd was chatting with the Tool about something she wasn't remotely interested in. She needed another caffeine hit.

Reaching for the coffee pot, she frowned at the bruise she saw on her wrist when her sleeve came up. She put the pot down, and stared at the bruise in confusion. She left her cup and the coffee pot, and walked off, for the bathroom.

Locking herself into a cubicle, she took off her jacket and unbuttoned her shirt. It was obviously negative feedback, but how she would have sustained it, she was without a single idea. It wasn't until she'd taken off her shirt that she saw that the bruise on her wrist was gone.

She dropped her shirt to the floor, confused. What... what was wrong? Was it her... or someone else?

She bent down to grab her shirt, slipping it back on. Ethan! She abandoned her shirt and took out her cell phone, hurriedly dialling Ethan's number. "Pick up, baby. Pick up."

"This is Ethan," Ethan replied.

Oh God! He sounded okay. She dearly hoped he was. "Are you okay?" she asked, in a voice so low it was a whisper.

"Miss Parker?"

"Yes, baby, it's me. Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

"No. I'm fine, sister."

She sighed in relief.

"Is something wrong?" Ethan asked. "Are _you_... okay?"

"Yes," she whispered. "I just..."

"Just...?"

She shook her head. "Nothing. It's nothing." She ran a hand over her hair. "Ethan, it was great to hear your voice."

"It's... good to hear your voice too," Ethan replied, uncertainly.

"I hope to talk again soon, love."

"Yes."

"I've gotta go."

"Yes. G-goodbye."

"Goodbye." She ended the call, slipping her phone back into its holster. She buttoned her shirt back up.

She opened the door and walked off to find Sam.

.

Sam was having a break in the dining hall, when she marched over. One look was all she needed to take to know he was fine. He was chatting with his best pal, Cox, so she didn't stick around.

Then she stopped. She thought for a moment. Cox was her doctor. She gave that idea up, and kept walking.

She returned to the conference room, and walked up to Raines. "You," she said. "A word."

He sighed and followed her to the wall by the drinks table. "What's so important that you had to drag me away from-"

"Mind your own business, for a change, and stop listening in on Sydney's conversations!" she snapped. She stepped closer and grabbed a handful of his shirt unexpectedly. "A few minutes ago, let's say five minutes ago, I couldn't breath for a couple of seconds, and then I noticed a bruise on my wrist. When I inspected it more closely, I saw it had disappeared. I thought it was negative feedback, but then it disappeared. What can you tell me?"

"You feel fine," he told her.

She glared at him dirtily. "You're not even trying!" she hissed, fixing her eyes to his. She could _see_ he _wasn't_ trying - his eyes looked like they always did.

He sighed softly and concentrated his gaze on hers, his eyes seeming to become more blue, perhaps a fraction of a shade paler. He glanced past her at the drinks table, his eyes settling on the plate of biscuits.

"Tss!" she hissed, drawing his attention back to her face.

"No, you're fine," he said.

"I'm sure I'm not," she growled.

"No, you are."

"Stop thinking about those Goddamn biscuits!" she hissed.

He made a face, and placed his hand over her hand, holding his shirt. "Whatever it was, it's gone now. I doubt that it was negative feedback. I sense no trace of it."

"You're fucking great!" she scathed darkly.

"Hey!"

"Hey _nothing_!" she spat bitchily. "You've lost your touch!"

"It was more than likely psychological," he snapped, resisting from grinding his teeth, and grabbed her wrist, pulling it away from his shirt. "This one?" he asked angrily.

She scowled menacingly, her eyes flashing sharply.

He took that to mean _yes_. "I'm not getting anything," he told her.

A woman came over for a coffee; Raines dropped Parker's hand, his eyes returning to normal.

She scowled angrily and stalked off. No matter what he said, it was fucking obvious he'd lost his touch!

He walked after her, grabbing her hand and pulling her around to face him. "It might be Lyle," he told her in a low voice. "You know how good he is at playing the idiot. And he was going to that conference. He could have gotten himself in trouble. That could be what you were sensing."

"He's not my fucking twin!" she hissed, with menace.

He sighed. "Don't say I didn't try," he replied, and walked off.

"Bastard!" she seethed. "You didn't try at all!" She wiped her cheek with the back of her hand, irritably, and reeled back at the sight of blood on her hand. A second later, the blood was gone.

She put her hand down stiffly, and headed for Sydney and Bartholomew. If Lyle really had gotten himself in some deep shit, she'd have to go and bail him out. As far as the company was concerned, he was still her twin brother.

.

As she walked down the hall to her office, blood dripped from the slash in her palm, staining the marble floor, but only in her mind. He was a real sook, to come whingeing to her this way, she thought, just because he didn't want to go to that stupid conference alone. When she caught up with him, she'd beat the fuck out of him!

The conference was on Saturday, and it was Friday. She wasn't a fucking imbecile, like he was! She fucking remembered something, when she was told it!

Slamming her office door shut loudly, she grabbed her cell phone and looked up Lyle's number in her Phone Book, planting herself down on her desk.

.

Hearing someone's phone ringing - Lyle's obviously - Emily shot to her feet and rushed to the bedroom, grabbing the phone from the night stand and dropping herself onto the mattress to answer it. "Lucy!"

"That seems to be a popular name with my brother," the woman on the other end replied, scathingly.

_Miss Parker_, Emily thought. "Lyle's not in, right now. Would you like me to take a message?"

"No, I wouldn't like you to take a fucking message!" she growled. "Quit playing stupid and put me on the fucking phone with the psychopath!"

"He's not here, ma'am," Emily replied, going for an indignant, slightly shaken tone.

"Let me ask you something, Lucy," Parker put it to her. "If my brother's on vacation, as I'd heard it, then _what the fuck are you doing there?_ In my experience, people don't regularly take their _secretaries_ on vacation with them!"

Emily sighed. "Lady, I don't want to lose my job, okay! Just give me the bloody message already!"

"I want to speak to my brother," Parker said plainly.

"Thank you, Lucille," Lyle said, taking the phone from her with shaking hands. "That will be all." He sat down beside her.

She sat up, frowning, and scooted away from him a bit.

"Lyle Parker."

"Hhh!" The connection was cut off.

He dropped the phone onto the mattress and glanced sideways at Emily, breathing heavily. "What did she want?"

"Are you okay?" Emily asked, staring at him with a weird look on her face. Um, he was dripping on the floor and stuff.

"I'm fine, I just had too much coffee," he answered.

"Are you sure cos you've got this," she put a hand to her face, covering the left side with a hand, "yucky red mark here." She picked at a wet patch on his shirt. "And you're kind of - sopping!"

"Yeah. I felt hot."

"Do you need..." she waved her hand around, searching for the word, "anti-histamine? Phenergen, or something? You're kind of..." she put her hand on her chest, "like you can't breathe."

"I'm fine."

"No." She shook her head. "You're not. You're not."

"I am."

"No."

"Ye-" He started coughing.

She leant back, away from him.

"I said I am. Fine. I'm fine."

"Don't believe you," she replied. "Are you allergic to coffee then? That it? You're allergic to caffeine! That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. What did you take?"

"I didn't take anything."

She shook her head and jumped off the bed, opening the top drawer on the night stand and looking through it, then doing the same with the other two drawers. "Where is it?"

"I didn't take anything," he repeated.

She huffed, crossing her arms. Her eyes landed on his arm, widening. "Your arm's bleeding."

He sighed, looking pained. "I must have accidentally pulled the stitches."

She shook her head, nodding to his hand, which he'd wrapped a gauze bandage around. "You didn't have any stitches in your hand."

He lay back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. "Mel gets- gets angry sometimes, and it's- bad. We call it negative... fee-feedback. Which basically means... damage. You can acquire negative feedback... without n-noticing, and la-later, you get very sick. It's because... of the connection... I didn't... process... properly... what I... I was meant to."

"If you're gonna be sick, go do that," Emily told him, pointing to the bathroom, "but I'm calling someone."

"N-no... Please don't... They can't... help..."

"Eric can help! I know you don't have that AH thing. You just said you did because- you didn't want Eric _feeling_ you! In a Healer person way!"

He laughed, and started coughing again, his eyes watering. "I didn't want... to kill him... Why would I... lie... about that...? I... I'm a Reaper... What you refer... re-referred to as... my werewo-wolf... thing... We call it... people... a Reaper... We can... consume... energy... even fr-from people... But, in me... it's very un... stable..."

"Just stop blabbing," she told him. "I'm calling someone and that's it."

"No!"

She shook her head, looking the other way when he started coughing all over again. "So you were worried about sucking the energy out of Eric, is that it? Before he had a chance to help my brother, or what? You obviously _don't_ like him and think he's a pompous ass, which really _you are_, but are too thick and _self-impressed_ to see it!"

"I'm an ISP first, and a... Reaper second," he said.

"Look, if you're not gonna see someone, the way you're going, you're gonna suffocate, or something, and then you'll die. You know, cos people need to be able to breathe to, like, live or whatever!" she said angrily.

"Give it... give it time to pass," he told her.

"Whilst you're hyperventilating," she replied, rolling her eyes. "If they ask me who done this, I'll say it was you. It was all you! You wanted to die, and you killed yourself!"

He reached for her hand.

"No. No. Keep your hands to yourself. I'm not gonna let you suck the life out of me, thank you."

He dropped his hand.

She put her hands over her ears. She'd heard an animal once, that had copped bad heatstroke, breathing like that, all nothing and then gasp and then nothing and so on. The animal had died. She hated listening to people breathing like that; it freaked her out.

She turned around and watched the wall. AH. What did that even stand for? After hours? Attention... something with a 'h'... hysteria, hyperactive, haemorrhagic fever? Slowly, she took her hands away from her ears. And put them back again. Gah! She couldn't stand that noise!

The phone started playing that Cher song again. "Lucy," she answered, staring at the wall in pain. She couldn't very well block her ears _and_ hold the phone!

"When and where is this conference?" Miss Parker asked, on a calmer note.

Emily winced. "My boss isn't in, at the moment. Can I call you back?"

Parker laughed. "It's his cell phone! Why wouldn't he have taken it with him, if he'd gone out?"

She shook her head, on the verge of tears. "I don't know, ma'am."

Parker sighed. "When he gets 'in', have him call me back."

"Yes, ma'am," she replied, but Parker had already hung up. She dropped the phone onto the floor beside her. A moment later, she walked out of the room.

She lay down on the bed in her room and closed her eyes, imagining that beautiful, green forest that was her happy place, the place where she felt the most safe and secure. It was a gorgeous forest; everything in it, was gorgeous. The sunlight, slanting down through the canopy, felt like a warm hug.

.

She was woken, maybe six hours later, by a hand on her back. Her eyes flew open in panic. A warm hand.

"Are you hurt?" Jarod asked softly. "That's a lot of blood in the bathroom."

"It's not mine," she whispered back, biting back a whimper. It was different when it was someone else, she thought vaguely. When it was you, you could sorta deal. Well, you only have a couple of options. Live or die. And mostly, when you were dying, you expected that you would die, and it was a bit... a bit like, _Oh, right_. When you got to that stage, worrying was kinda pointless. But when it was someone else; different story. When it was someone else, the one who lived had to go on living, with that image stuck in their mind, with the knowledge that they'd watched someone die, the knowledge they'd... they'd not been able to prevent them from dying, for the rest of their life.

"How did you know I was here?" she croaked, wishing she could have a glass of water, just at that moment.

"Ethan told me. He said you'd rung him."

Sniffing, she sat up. "I did."

"Do you know whose blood that is?" Jarod asked, looking her in the eye.

"Yes," she answered, not looking at him.

"Do you want to tell me?"

"No," she replied. She didn't, that was true.

"How did you come by Ethan's number?" Jarod continued. "He hadn't even given it to me, as yet."

She sniffed again. "M-Mel told me," she said quietly.

Jarod frowned. "Miss Parker told you?" he asked, highly sceptical.

She looked up from the mattress suddenly. "Miss Parker's name is Mel?"

Jarod winced. "Yeah," he said slowly, "part of it is."

"Is the other part 'isande'?" she asked.

"No. No, I don't know the other part," he replied, more confidently. "It may well be, but I don't know, so I can't say. Melisande. It sounds French. Why? Where did you hear it that it might be Parker's name?"

"Nowhere," she replied.

"I guess some other Mel gave you Ethan's number, then," Jarod replied.

Emily nodded.

Jarod took a cell phone out of his pocket to show to her. "Is this yours?"

She got her own out from under the pillow.

Jarod frowned, and peered down at the phone, clicking through the menu. "Adrian, Allison, _Broots_, _Brown_, Calum, Carter, _Chairman_ Courtland, Cherice, Cherry, Dewy, Eric, Frankie, John, Jones, _Lucy_, Maria, Mark, Mickey, _Parker_, Persephone, Plum, _Raines_, Sam, Sheila, _Sydney_, Ursula, _Willie_." He glanced at Emily, and sighed. "This is Lyle's phone," he guessed, the disappointment clearly written in his voice. "Who's blood is that, Emily?"

She looked down at her hands. "His."

"It's his blood? That's a lot of blood. I mean that. A lot. You're sure it's his?"

She nodded. "He said," she shook her head, "it was called negative feedback; that's why... he was sick."

"Did he tell you Ethan's number?" Jarod asked, finally.

She shook her head. "No. His daughter did. Melisande. She... told me."

"He doesn't have a daughter, Emily," Jarod told her.

"She's dead. I know. She died of an allergic reaction when she was eleven."

Jarod shook his head, looking at her sadly. "Emily, he never had a daughter to start with. You can't die if you don't exist. He had one over you."

"No," Emily struggled to explain, "I saw her! Like Miss Parker saw that little girl, the one you told me about! Angel! I saw her - and she told me!"

Jarod sighed. He supposed it was all fun and games, to Lyle. He, on the other hand, didn't find it fun, or funny. Inside, he was furious, but he didn't want to let on to Emily. The dejected look on her face killed him; he didn't need to make it worse for her. "Okay," he said.

"Wh-what?" she stammered.

"The girl told you Ethan's number..."

"And I rang Ethan. To let him know... I was okay... and I wanted to t-talk to you..." Emily filled in.

He nodded. "I'm just glad you're okay, Emily."

She sniffed. "Not really. I don't like seeing dead people. I don't like them touching me."

Jarod's eyes darkened in fury. If it hadn't been enough that Lyle had completely abused his abilities as an Empath to mess with his sister's head, to make her see things that weren't real, that was going too bloody far!

Emily's lip shook. "That little boy, I... I don't know why he had to die!" Her eyes misted over with tears.

"Which little boy is this, Emily?" Jarod asked gently, leaning closer and placing his hands over hers, which were curled up into fists.

She sobbed and brushed at her eyes with a hand. "His name was Jacob. They said on the radio... that he'd been missing!" She brushed her eyes again, wiping away her tears on her sleeve. She sniffed, her eyes brightening. "We found someone who can help Mo!"

Jarod didn't pick up on the _we_ comment, but simply nodded. What the Hell had Lyle got out of all this?

"His name is Eric Thompson. He's a Healer. He says he might be able to help, but he can't make any guarantees."

Jarod rolled his eyes. He couldn't help it. "Emily, there's no such things as Healers," he said sensibly.

She frowned, brushing at her eyes again. "I saw him H-Heal Clea. I saw him Heal her with my own eyes!" she insisted.

Jarod shook his head. This was really going to far; Lyle had left him no choice but to put an end to all this fantasy. He, himself, knew that Healers existed, but there wasn't a chance in Hell that one would be willing to help Mo. It was pure fantasy; all part of Lyle's greater plan, whatever that might be. "Emily, Lyle's an Empath. He showed you what he wanted you to see," he told her heavily.

She shook her head. "No. He couldn't have done that. E-even if he's an Empath. He said so. He said... his Voices couldn't Read me. He said there were other people like me!"

"No." Jarod shook his head. "Emily, you are not a Mediator."

"Y-yes, that's what I must be!"

"No."

She frowned. "Why not?"

"Because, I'm telling you, Em. Mediators are a rare commodity. You're not a Mediator. Someone would have noticed it, by now. They'd have taken you away, too."

"No, because he said I didn't block them before," Emily argued. "He said... it must have been triggered by a traumatic event, and that it would relax, as time passed. That I'd go back to normal. I... wouldn't block people anymore, and... even if I did, they wouldn't even know I was blocking anything. He said-"

"Emily, please," Jarod interrupted. "I don't care what _he_ said! He was trying to use you. And it looks like me made a good go of it, too. This doctor, this Thompson - I assume he's a doctor, at least, that's what he masquerades as - he'll be in on this little scheme, too, you have my word."

"No."

"I'm sorry, Emily," Jarod told her. "You have to see. I have a feeling that's not his blood, either. That's just what he wanted you to think."

She whined. "You don't know!"

Jarod patted her arm. "If you really want to be sure, why don't we have it tested?" he suggested. "But I'm sorry, I've gotta be honest, I think it's highly likely it'll be some poor, unfortunate woman's." He sighed. "I think he killed someone and he wanted you to take the fall for it, Em."

She laughed.

Jarod took her hand. "We have to go, Emily."

She sniffed, wiping her nose on the back of her sleeve, and followed him out of the room, towards the kitchenette. "Wait here, just for a couple of minutes," Jarod told her, gesturing to a seat. "I have to clean this mess up, and I'll be back. Try to remember what you touched, what might have your fingerprints on it, what dishes you used-"

"All of it," she interrupted. "I like touching things."

Jarod sighed heavily. "Okay," he said. "Okay, I'll fix this."

Emily sniffed, wiping her nose on her sleeve again. "What about the woman he murdered? If you destroy the evidence, he'll get away with it."

Jarod nodded. "We'll come to that," he told her. "Later."

She sniffed again and closed her eyes. She just wanted this nightmare to end.

The cell phone in Jarod's pocket started to ring. He took it out of his pocket, frowning at the ring tone, and switched it off. He returned it to his pocket and left the room.


	6. Chapter 6

Parker glared at her cell phone for a long moment, then put it away. Fuck! Stupid fucking fuck! Couldn't even bother answering the phone himself! Couldn't even bother answering at all, it turned out! What a fuck! She hoped he died.

She stared at her hand, turning it over a couple of times, but it looked fine now; no more blood. She supposed he'd given up on the dying act, the little fuck. Pity he hadn't really been dying, she thought, slipping off her desk.

She guessed she'd just have to go back to the meeting, now. Joy of joys.

.

Emily sat in the diner, feeling like shit. She'd just been told she'd been used to cover up a murder, on top of which, she'd very nearly got her family trapped by the enemy. She wasn't feeling very happy.

She sipped her strawberry milkshake darkly, glaring at the serviette holder. She just wanted to grab the stupid shiny thing and turf it. She looked away, to the television where a detective was chatting to the press about the a murder; the little boy who'd been murdered had been positively identified as Jacob Holmes by his parents. A picture of the kid came up on the screen. She looked away.

Jarod continued to watch the screen, a mug of coffee clutched in his hands.

Emily reached over and took the mug off him, setting it back on the tabletop.

He didn't look away from the telly for a second.

.

When they were in the car, a much newer model than the one Lyle had been getting around in - it even had one of those Skip buttons on the steering wheel for the stereo system - Emily fiddled with the vent on her side of the dash and said, "He's a Reaper. At least, that's what he wanted me to think."

"He is," Jarod replied, without glancing at her. "Secondarily only. He can't Heal himself, like they usually can. I don't even think he can pull off the Reaper vibes, suck the life out of people, all the _cool_ stuff like that. He's got the scary teeth, claws, creepy voice, but not much else. You know, I don't even think his eyes change."

"They did. They turned brown."

Jarod shrugged.

"But that wasn't real," Emily said, so he didn't have to.

He nodded.

"Are you going to get that blood tested?" she asked.

He nodded once more.

"You must think I'm the biggest idiot," Emily said.

Jarod shook his head. "No. I don't. You're not an idiot. Really, he's not given enough credit. He's not a bad Empath. He's fooled more than just you, Em. But now you know, now you've seen how it goes. You're not going to fall for it again. You know the game, you know the tricks. It takes getting used to. It really does. From the outside, looking in, it's hard to really appreciate the power someone like Lyle can have over people."

"Do you think you'll be able to get that girl justice?" Emily asked.

"I hope so," Jarod replied.

.

"That's it? You're certain?"

Emily nodded. That was the clinic, the place where Eric worked.

"Alright."

"What are you going to do?" Emily asked, glancing at Jarod worriedly.

"Oh... I'll think of something," he replied. "I'm still assessing my options. We'll wait until he gets off work, we'll follow him home; then, we'll ask our questions."

An hour later, Emily sighed. She'd been watching the waiting room and she hadn't seen Eric come out to call a patient once. She pulled open the car door.

"Em!"

She shut the door after her and walked away from the car.

At the reception desk, she asked the receptionist - a different woman this time - when Dr. Thompson would be in.

She pulled the car door shut after her, glancing across at Jarod darkly. "He's away for a symposium," she told him, with distaste. Why had she even trusted that guy?

.

Emily's return to the family was greeted with gladness and hugs. Only Mo, who sat staring blankly at nothing really, didn't hug her, and Margaret asked her not to touch him. She sat cross-legged on the floor beside his chair and hummed _I Got You Babe_.

Before she retired to bed, she dropped by to run a query by Jarod. "Is Lyle allergic to anaesthetic?"

He frowned, considering her question. "Actually, I think he is." He cast her an enquiring glance.

She shrugged. "Said his daughter was," she replied, sighing. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Emily. E-Em!"

She paused in the doorway, turning around. "Yeah?"

"Did he say if she was allergic to local or general anaesthetic?"

"No. Just anaesthetic. He said she'd had appendicitis, and that was when she'd been given the anaesthetic."

He nodded.

"Why? Which is he allergic to?"

"Both, apparently," Jarod replied. He frowned. "You know he had his appendix out as a child."

"I didn't know that."

"Apparently so," Jarod said.

She nodded, _Right_, and turned 'round, stepping out into the hall. _Well, that explains it all!_ she thought sarcastically. _Why he never felt like he fit in with the rest of us; why he couldn't relate. Had his appendix out._ She suppressed a snort, and walked to bed where the toy otter her dad had gotten her three years ago sat waiting for her. She sat down on the bed and picked up the otter and hugged it. "Hope you didn't miss me too much, Otto," she whispered.

.

Jarod had just departed the kitchen table after explaining to Em that he'd be going after Eric alone, upon his return, when Margaret walked in, immediately going for the coffee pot.

Emily stared blankly at a supermarket pamphlet for a couple of moments before looking up at her mom, as she walked over, coffee in hand. "Have we got biscuits?" she asked.

Her only response was the loud crack of Margaret's mugful of coffee when it hit the floor.

Emily stared at her mom, confused.

Margaret, meanwhile, seemed caught between whether to flee or go for her daughter.

"Mom?" Emily asked, frightened that something was wrong with her mom, that she'd scared or upset her somehow.

Margaret came to her senses and was by Emily's side in a snap, gripping her arm, by her wrist, staring wide-eyed at - Oh shit! - Lyle's bracelet.

Emily tried not to wince.

"Why have you got that... thing?" Margaret asked, frantically catching Emily's eye.

Emily shook her head. Her mom was really scaring her now. That thing?

"Don't you know whose that is?" Margaret asked, finally.

"Lyle's..." she replied quietly.

"I want you to get rid of it. Now! Throw it away, burn it - I don't care! Damn it! We have to go!"

"Mom, calm down," Emily said, trying to instill some calm to the situation. "It's just a bracelet."

Margaret laughed, her eyes widening in an alarming manner. "Just a bracelet!" she laughed, almost hysterical.

"Mom, you're freaking me out," Emily told her quietly.

"It's not just a bracelet, sweetheart," Margaret replied, finally, recovering slightly. "It's Noah's bracelet. It's a Class Nine Empath's bracelet. A _dead_ Class Nine Empath's bracelet!"

Emily frowned. "I thought the classes only went up to Seven."

"Well, that's what they say, but Noah was a very special little boy."

Margaret's tone of voice was really starting to freak Emily out, now. "Special?" she asked.

"Noah was Miss Parker's real twin," Margaret replied. "Please, just get rid of it. I don't like it. Catherine was my friend, and Miss Parker is Jarod's... friend, I guess."

"How did he die?" Emily asked, suddenly noticing that her mom had let go of her wrist.

"We don't know the facts, we don't know _who_, but someone tried to rescue him. But it's not just that simple; he was an Empath, and he'd never been exposed to the outside world on such a massive scale before. Fifty-two people died, that we know of. He tried to protect himself by projecting the negative feedback off himself, but it killed a lot of people, so he took it back on himself. He died. Just like those 52 people."

She shook her head. "No! No, no. You... keep them. Put them away. Somewhere safe. But keep them. We might be able to use them. The Centre never recovered Noah's body, but if they really are his beads, we might be able to use them as a bargaining chip. We know something they don't; we know someone who might know where the kid's body is. If we can get that, if we can get the kid's body, we might be able to get his DNA, and that, in the Centre's eyes, would be a very valuable thing. And we might be able to get his colony. One of a kind, baby. Not to mention, I'm sure it'll contain information on who tried to rescue the kid."

Emily refrained from telling her mom how creepy her knowing all this was, let alone how creepy the stuff she was telling her was itself. "Okay," she said. If it meant a bargaining chip, then it would be worth it. At least, that's what she told herself. She had to keep telling herself that.

Nonetheless, half an hour later, they were on the road again.

.

He felt a little weird without his beads, but, for the most part, Lyle thought, he was coping. The Empath glamour seemed to be working, which was handy. He wasn't looking his best, to be honest, and it was always sort of... nice, to be able to appear... normal, at your best, when you were visiting new places and meeting new people.

There weren't any Healers, at the event - no, save for one; Mr. For In Case of Emergency Only - no Mediators, either. A couple of Empaths, from different companies, most of them Class Four, two Threes, even a Six. And a tonne load of Reapers and other security officers.

Oh, and then there were the ISPs. Chatting away to one another secretly, feeling sort of better than everyone else; shit, they were in a special club - they were telepaths. Which, ah, dah, meant they could communicate by thought alone, no annoying blabby voices necessary.

It wasn't too pleasant for him, with all of that added background chatter. He couldn't quite make out the words, but there was something there. A frequency, of some sort, that stuck in the back of his mind and niggled and niggled.

Actually, by lunch, he felt rather like throwing up some more, and he'd thought he was very nearly over that. Apparently not.

Still, he let it all go; let it all pass him by. He supposed he was still feeling sort of really happy, even though, on the other hand, he was kicking himself for it. Mel should never had been allowed to know he was alive... Well, that her real, actual twin was alive. The kid was smoked. Unfortunately, now, thanks to him, the world's biggest idiot, she did know. It was all fine and dandy her feeling all motherly about him, and how bloody awesome was that - so they'd had that minor falling out as kids, but she still loved him - all well and good, but no, really, it was fucking disgusting! Very bad news!

He would find a way to affirm for her that her twin was, in fact, dead, and that it had all been a big misunderstanding, or someone's cruel, sick idea of a joke. His probably. It was his thing. Cruel, sick, oh yeah! His thing, all right. She'd believe that! If he did it right...

It was going to be okay. Really. It was.

.

Over the weekend, Emily got to spend some time with her family, as just as family. They even went bowling, though she sucked very much. She didn't mind because it made her parents smile, seeing her all... normal-like and enjoying her sibling's company.

Mo didn't really join in, in his state, but he may have been taking note. Who could say?

Jarod had sent the blood off and was awaiting the results, he'd told her, so she just went with it. In any case, why would he lie to her? Why wouldn't he be as eager to find out whose blood it was as she was? She believed him.

They had burgers and chips at an all-nighter, for dinner, and they got to watch a lightning storm out the big check-out-that-street windows.

At night, as it was raining, she listened to that rain on the roof and felt happier for the sound. Trees, plants liked rain, and she liked plants. She'd planted some mystery seeds in a pot that morning. She fell asleep wondering when they'd emerge from the soil and what they'd come up as. She was sure she'd be happy, no matter what they were.

.

Lyle sat on the floor in the bathroom, in the plane, humming a song in his mind, a song Bobby had written for Mel for her sixteenth birthday. Sometimes, he wondered how Bobby had been able to do it, how he'd still been able to care about the people who hurt him the most, how he'd been able to let go of his anger at them and move on. Maybe Bobby had figured that the anger you felt towards someone else was also anger at yourself, like you were angry at yourself for not being strong enough to stop them from hurting you, angry because you let yourself feel hurt, let them hurt you. Why did people hurt one another? Didn't everyone hurt someone?

The conference had worried him; really worried him. ISPs did not see the spirits of Those passed. It was lucky it was only Jarod who knew her little secret, only Jarod; he would not tell... how could he tell when he cared so for Miss Parker? So maybe he'd tell him Mom, and ask about Catherine - had she even mentioned something like that - but who else would he tell? He'd keep Mel's secret, just like he'd kept the secret of her name. But she couldn't be telling other people, least of all Sydney.

Sydney would know at once, being an ISP himself, that seeing the dead wasn't an ISP thing, that it was a high-Class Empath thing. Was Mel now an Empath? He wouldn't understand that Mel didn't see the spirits of the dead, he wouldn't understand how scared he'd been for Mel, how he'd had to show her that girl, had to give her a chance to defend herself, at least. Mel would not end up like Cat, would not end up Dorothea's pawn, or any other Dearly Departed's. She would fight them all; she would live her _own_ life.

He sighed. No, Mel would be alright. He was always worrying about her, always worrying about her though she was an adult. What was that about? Did he not believe her capable of judging the world in the right light. Bollocks. Mel knew the score better than anyone. Or was it just projecting; was he projecting his own worries for himself onto Mel? What kind of a cheap freak did that make him? But, sometimes, there wasn't any difference. Without Mel, nothing he did would ever matter; Mel was the only thing that mattered, in the end. It was all about Mel. Mel made it all worthwhile.

_You're right_, he thought, _I am some obsessed freak. It's unhealthy._

But it was too deep down now, too deep to change. Too many years spent waiting to be together again with his family, too many years spent telling himself, "Soon. Soon, baby." Too many years spent believe that one day, they'd love him like they were always meant to, and he, he'd be able to love them back, and that would be okay. You cared about your family, you loved them; you wanted to be with them. Until the next life, and you forgot them completely. But now, in this life, it was okay. Maybe he only wanted them to love him, to know him, because family wasn't something you got to choose; family was something you got stuck with.

He supposed, now, it was Mel's turn. He'd always presumed it was okay for him to care about her, but now it was her turn to say, "No, fuck you. I don't want your care." But she'd made her mind up years ago; years ago, and he'd not been listening, he'd not wanted to listen; he'd just wanted to believe that, in the end, it would all turn out alright. That it would all turn out as it was meant to.

Some people called it _romantic_, other people called it _selfish_, others still _delusional_. Today, he had to stop being selfish. He had to give Mel up, had to let her pursue her own fate. Today was the day. Today, he was strong. He could do it. He could set Mel free. All endings were also beginnings. The end of the world would be a beginning, too.

.

Monday morning at work, down in the Sim lab used for collecting and analysing the clues Jarod had left behind, he walked up to Parker with a smile, and told her, "You ain't even asked how I been. 'How goes the conference, lil bro?' Tell you what, I learnt myself somethin' new. Baby girl, you gonna be impressed. You ain't the only one can work that magic. Check it!" He grabbed her hand, gave her a little wink.

The way the smile wiped from her face was enough to tell him it had worked; she'd been trying so hard to smile, to act like she wasn't bothered in the least by his annoying as fuck antics. Poor baby girl. But that had been the last straw. Now she knew for sure he'd been the one making out like her lil bro was still alive; he'd let her in on a little Empath sharing, let her feel her precious twin again.

"Tell me that ain't just gold, baby girl?"

She told him alright - with her Smith & Wesson pressed to the front of his head.

He frowned, playing at confusion. "You're angry? Do you have any idea how hard I worked on this!"

"Put the gun down," Sydney told her firmly.

She didn't look around at him, even for a second. She kept her eyes fixed on Lyle's. Then she smiled.

_Time to kick my ass, Mel_, he thought.

Instead, she turned and walked out the door.

She still did kick his ass, though. Right off Jarod's Retrieval team. All the way to Rare Blood, Arizona; a Reaper training facility in the middle of nowhere. So she _did_ have connections. She didn't even let him say _goodbye_ to the kid; he wrote him a letter, instead. He couldn't have sat back and done nothing. He'd done something. It was probably better that the kid not get too attached to him, in any case. Better he get attached to Parker; someone reliable. Two days, and it was _Bye-bye, Blue Cove_.

He was going to start over, he told himself.

.

Jarod sighed, shaking his head. He'd been so sure he'd finally have something to pin to Lyle, but, sure enough, the blood had turned out to be Lyle's; not a jot related to Parker, though. He'd run a comparison. Nothing alike; no more siblings than he and Parker were.

He supposed Emily would be as disappointed as him. Relieved, too, he imagined. She'd not been involved in any cold-hearted, ruthless murder.

Jarod shook his head, walking out of the lab. Should have known, he supposed. The guy was a Reaper; those bloody buggers took a lot before they expired. What's a couple of litres of blood, hey? To anyone one else, sure, they'd be dead on the floor; to a Reaper, they'd just be in a bad mood; had a bad day.

Stepping out of the building, Jarod headed for his car. He wasn't completely out of the game, though - he knew how to put that monster on his ass! A smile formed on his face. One day, that was just what he'd do. It would happen when the creep least expected it. _Bam!_ and the monster would be dead!


	7. Chapter 7

Next stop was Dr. Thompson's. It was quite easy to break into the guy's house; after that, Jarod took a seat to wait for him to get back from work. Even poured himself a glass of expensive whiskey from the liquor cabinet. Disappointment came, far from from the whiskey, but when Thompson got home; when it became clear that he _was_ a Healer. And then... the smallest ray of hope. If he could help Mo...!

.

Jarod brought the good news back to his family, with some trepidation. Sure, he believed in Healers... in a manner. He just didn't know that they were that good. If Eric Thompson had been the Daughter of Nash, he'd have had no doubts; she got a lot of hype (mostly from her home corporation, T-Corp), but he was sure it was only because she really was that good. If Eric had been the Daughter of Nash, she'd have set out her limitations exactly as they were; there would have been no _ifs_ or _maybes_. But then again, he conceded to himself, even he was gullible, sometimes; even he could be taken for a ride, sometimes.

Sitting on her bed, Emily looked sceptical. As soon as he'd broken the news, he'd left to talk to Emily alone. Margaret had told her about Noah, apparently, and the whole thing had rather freaked her out. Which was to be expected. She hadn't even had any idea that such a thing as upgrading - as creating a neural interface between the brain and a computer - was possible, let alone that it had been possible, albeit in its infancy, in the 1960s. And she'd obviously believed Lyle to have been Parker's twin, 100 percent, without question.

They'd had some good news, he reminded her, and some... some news that hadn't turned out to be so good. The main thing was, she hadn't been an accomplice in anyone's murder and they'd found someone who might have been able to help Mo. The guy obviously wasn't affiliated with any company - he'd done an extensive background check on him - it seemed like he was either in it for the freedom, the freedom to do what he wanted, to do his thing his way, without having some creeps breathing down his neck, or the bucks. Either way, it was a tight rope he was walking, and a tenuous one at that. Either way, if he screwed them over, Jarod would make sure he'd get what was coming to him. No one messed with his family and got away with it scot-free!

"How does Mom know Lyle's not Miss Parker's twin?" Emily asked, not looking up from her lap. It was a very overcast day, but her eyes looked duller than the clouds outside.

"I could show you the DSAs, if you'd like," he offered, not really answering her question, but not really avoiding it, either.

She shook her head. "No thank you. I'll pass." She took something out of her pocket and offered it in his direction, finally looking up and meeting his eyes.

Jarod coughed. "Okay. Okay. I'm good."

"Don't you want to look them over, make sure they're authentic?" she asked.

He nodded. "That's okay, Em. I'll take your word for it."

"Mom's word, don't you mean," she replied, hollowly.

"Mom's word," he agreed.

"Come on!" she replied, sighing. "I bet you they're just a clever imitation. They can't be real, can they? Or else they'd have cloned the kid already. P-Parker's twin. And... you know they can."

"They're not on the home stretch yet," he said.

She frowned. "Oh! Oh! Because... because Mo's not living proof that they've been there, done that!"

He tilted his head. "Hey. There's no need in you working yourself up, Emily. I'm just saying... I'm not entirely convinced they... they didn't have outside help."

"Outside help?" she laughed bitterly.

"Healers," he replied.

She laughed again. "Sure - and where were the fucking Healers when Brigitte was dying, Jarod, hmmm!"

Jarod didn't ask why she'd chosen to bring up Brigitte, rather than Kyle, but said, "She wasn't that important. Expendable."

"And that's the story of their fucking lives, isn't it!" she shouted, shooting to her feet. "We're all fucking expendable to them!" In a couple of strides, she crossed the room and slammed the door after her.

Jarod frowned at the door. Whatever was up with Emily, she wasn't her usual self, that was for sure; in the past, she'd always been The Hopeful Girl. Now it looked like she was turning into The Bitter Girl. He didn't like it.

.

Eric frowned, taking his hand from Mo's. "Well that's strange. Different. Certainly different." He turned to glance at Jarod. "RJ's condition seems to be deteriorating. I'd say this was... a lot more than just acquired brain damage. From what I can tell, it's not able to spread, but that's not its purpose. I think this was man-made, and specifically for your brother. A Hell of a lot of effort went into this thing, Jamal. Can you think of anyone who'd want your brother out of action, or out of the picture?"

"No," Jarod replied. Eric didn't know who he was, nor who Mo was; he wasn't about to enlighten him of the facts, but he was frightened. Why Mo, and not him? Where? When, had it happened? Why? Why the Hell?

"Jeannie's... friend. He used to work for A. Thom. I know she didn't know, we had that discussion, but did you, or your brother?"

"No." He'd never heard of A. Thom before, but if Lyle had, then it probably meant it had been one of the Centre's rivals, now out of business. People only paid attention when he messed up, not when he got things right - but Jarod paid attention to everything. So now he was thinking that maybe Lyle had known this thing was engineered, maybe he'd known it was going to get worse, and that was why he'd wanted Mo to see someone about it as soon as possible; but someone no one really paid much attention to, someone who wasn't in the spotlight the way the Daughter of Nash was. Someone who wouldn't be missed if things went wrong...

He shook his head. "If you could get hurt, then I appreciate all you've done for us, but we can't ask you to do any more," he babbled, hoping Eric would leave it at that and not ask why Jarod would think he might be in danger when he'd said it wasn't anything that spread.

"No, no. Nothing's going to happen to me. I'll be right. It's RJ I'm worried about." He frowned, sighing. "How well does your sister know this guy, exactly?"

"Not that great, I'd think," he replied.

Eric nodded. "So perhaps..." he sighed heavily, "he had something to do with this. One last little lab experiment for the old company, eh?"

Jarod made a face, genuinely taken aback by Eric's suggestion.

"I do hope I'm not going to be in any danger here," Eric replied, "but if that is the case, if they are looking to start over and are looking for a couple of half decent Healers, I'm not going to be put out of action by the likes of them! They don't scare me! Your brother's sick, there's no denying that, and you've brought him here, to me, and I'll be damned if I won't do all I can to help him! You have my word on that, Jamal. I don't mess around when I give my word."

Whether or not he was saying so to reassure him, or more for his own reassurance, Jarod wasn't fussed; the guy, at least, had to be given credit for one thing - he gave a damn. "Thank you," Jarod replied. "I don't know what half of the stuff you've been saying means, but thank you!"

"It means I'm going to do my best for your brother."

Jarod nodded. "Thank you."

"No problems," Eric replied stoically. "In the meantime, I think Jeannie has some explaining to do. Not to me, I know it all, already. To you."

Jarod frowned. "Ah... okay."

Eric nodded, meeting his eye seriously. "Okay."

"I'll ask her about... ah..."

"A. Thom."

"That's the one."

"I think you should."

"Thank you... doctor."

Eric sighed, nodding. What a joy his life was sometimes!

Jeannie seemed like a nice woman, but she really needed to start being straight with her family, no matter how ashamed she might have been of her failures. She'd lived to tell the tale and bounced back from them; everyone made mistakes, sometimes. There was nothing so shaming you couldn't share with those who loved you more than anything else in the world. Well... maybe getting your brother into a lot of dangerous shit that could get him killed was one of them, he considered. He'd never had that particular displeasure before, so he couldn't say for sure, but he imagined it would be pretty shameful.

.

Jarod refrained from swearing, but sighed and said calmly, "That facility we visited a couple of months back, I think it was a trap. Mo's got something that's making him sick, and it's getting worse. Worst of all, it's not gonna stop. It was made that way, and it's gonna do its job as long as it can. I'm sorry. Fuck. I'm sorry. I fucked up."

Across the table, with her arms crossed, Margaret shook her head. "We all did, Jarod. We all did."

Charles nodded. "She's right, son. This isn't only your fault."

Jarod winced. "Then why do I feel like it is?"

"Well, that's an unfortunate side effect of being raised by a place like the Centre. It was always your fault, when something didn't go as planned. But in this family, we don't work like that." He glanced at Emily. "Isn't that right, Em?"

"Sure," she agreed, barely refraining from a sarcastic tone. Yeah, but it was still her fault she'd been so fucking dumb to trust anything Lyle said!

"It isn't anyone's fault," Ethan spoke up. "Apart from whoever made the... thing to hurt Mo. That is their fault. But, from our end, it's an unfortunate accident. We didn't do anything to these people-"

"That we know of," Jarod interrupted.

Ethan frowned. "No. Period. We didn't do anything so bad that they should feel the need to retaliate in such a manner towards us! They're just scum, plain and simple! They're assholes. That's not our fault."

Jarod rolled his eyes.

Ethan shook his head. "Catherine didn't know about this. She didn't warn me, so she can't have known. There's nothing we could have done to stop this. So we've just gotta stop blaming... whoever we're blaming - You've gotta stop blaming yourself, Jarod - and we've gotta move on, we've gotta find a way to fix this, to make it better."

Emily nodded. "I agree with Ethan. Blaming yourself is only going to make you feel worse and that's not gonna be helping Mo. I fucked up. Shit, we've all fucked up sometime. You learn from it, and you move on, stronger than you were before, because you know, you know... even though you fucked up, you can still... you can still fight. A mistake is just a mistake. Your life doesn't stop for one mistake. We make mistakes all the time, it's just the ones that come back to kick us in the asses that we take notice of. We forge on, regardless."

Margaret cleared her throat. "Nice speech, hon," she commented unenthusiastically. "Jarod, you always make it through. You always do. Don't you think it's about time you started trusting in yourself, just a little?"

He shook his head. "I always make it through!" he replied angrily. "Sure! I do! What about Kyle?"

"Kyle is dead," Margaret told him. "Enough with the Kyle crap, already. He's moved on. You need to do the same. Whatever you think you learnt from that little incident that can help you, in future, grab it and don't let go. Then buckle the fuck up, and move on!" She got up, grabbing her mug of coffee. "I need some fresh air."

Jarod glared after her all the way to the door, until he couldn't see her anymore. That wasn't how he worked. He couldn't just let go of his brother so easily. It was all fine and dandy for Margaret to say whatever the Hell she liked, but he knew she hadn't let go any more than he had! And if she said she had, she was Goddamn lying through her teeth!

.

"I have a feeling I'll be able to stop this thing from wreaking any more harm," Eric told him, a day later, "but I don't think I'll be able to undo the damage it's already caused. That's not to say I can't give it a shot, but I just don't think it would be fair of me to say otherwise when it may very well turn out to be a lie. False hope, I'm not a big friend of, I'm afraid. If that's what you were looking for-"

"No," Jarod replied. "No, I agree."

Eric nodded. Well, that was good to know.

.

They had days off, days they could leave the facility and go into town. Friday was one of those days.

Jonas knew a woman in town, a schoolteacher, he'd visit for afternoon tea and a chat. She was his granddaughter, in actuality, but she'd never met him, never seen pictures of him, and he'd never revealed the truth to her. They liked to talk about literature, and the really old but great stories, the classics.

Carrera and Toby had mentioned a trip to the cinema. Toby had a four-year-old he took to the Pictures every Friday. Next year, the kid would be in school and he'd have to give it away - the cinema didn't run weekends - but until then, it was cool. The kid wasn't anything special, he didn't even have the Anomaly, he was safe, but Toby had told his mom, as much as he thought she was a neat thing, he didn't want to get involved any further than that. He hoped, one day, she met a good guy and they settled down. It would be good for the kid, to have a real dad.

Carrera came with because he was Toby's pal. They were best pals, he'd say, if anyone asked.

Lyle didn't know any of the teams. RB hadn't been too keen on the idea of his making friends. They liked to say it was considering the fact that a lot of the other Reapers shared a pretty dim view of Empaths - Jonas, Carrera and Toby included - but he knew that wasn't the only reason. They just plain didn't like him. That was the real reason.

Not that he'd given them, or anyone else, any reason to feel otherwise. Which was fair, he thought. He wasn't going to give them any reason. That was exactly how he wanted it to stay. He didn't want friends.

He went into town, the same as the others, but he didn't spend his money on scones from the bakery, rare books, or expensive imported tea, or even movie tickets, popcorn or soda. One shop over from the newsagent in the main street in town, there was an old shop. The paint around the large glass windows was peeling, and the windows themselves were pretty dusty, but that didn't matter. The shop sold old things. A lot of it didn't work and nobody wanted it. The old guy who owned the shop had used to fix them, but now he didn't bother. His son ran the shop now, and the old guy hardly ever came in. The stuff that didn't work, the son had taken out back and left it there. He never looked at an item twice. All it did now was gather dust, and slowly deteriorate. Lyle didn't have anything to do in town that didn't include making trouble for himself, so he didn't talk to schoolteachers or go to the cinema. He bought old broken stuff from the shop, televisions, radios, that sort of thing, and fixed them. Bobby knew how to fix all of that old stuff, and he enjoyed seeing something get fixed, come back to life again. Stuff was meant to last, meant to be able to be fixed, Bobby thought. When it was yours, it was a part of your family. It stayed with you 'til it died. Unfortunately, the new stuff wasn't made to be fixed anymore.

When he'd fixed whatever it was, he sold it back to the old guy's son so he could sell it on, hopefully to a good home, where it would be appreciated.

Apart from that, he stayed away from the cemetery, he didn't chat up any waitresses, and he kept to himself. If he had lunch in the diner on the main street, he didn't make friends, and he made sure Bobby didn't, either. He was a sneaky one, and he had to watch him constantly; he had to make sure he didn't smile at someone he wasn't meant to smile at, or at someone's kid he wasn't meant to smile at, either. Thankfully, most of the time, Bobby was okay with that. He was depressed about having to leave Mel, but he accepted it. Sometimes, he even got ice with his water, but never coffee or cake. Not on Fridays, not when they were out.

For some reason, in Bobby's mind, coffee and cake reminded him of Mel and he got ridiculously glum, and then Lyle got sad too. He couldn't help it. If Bobby was down, he was down. He didn't want to be down, and least of all when there was anyone else around, anyone who might notice and come over to try and cheer him up. Making friends was not on the agenda. He'd told Bobby that more than once before, but the kid was just a kid, and kids could be temperamental, so he wasn't taking chances. If he mucked up, then they didn't get to come into town anymore, stuff what the others thought!

Bobby understood the rules.

On this particular Friday, Bobby was happily thinking about radios and how to fix the one they'd recently bought, and Lyle was thinking about the weather and finishing his lunch, even if he wasn't particularly hungry and Bobby's overly cheerful mood wasn't helping any. Whenever Bobby was that cheerful it was because, deep down, he wasn't really cheerful at all; deep down, he was very, very sad about something but lying about it was just standard procedure; it worked with other people, so there was no reason for it not to work with him, too. If he pretended like he was happy - and he was happy about the radio, that wasn't a lie! - then maybe he really would be happy.

Which was why he didn't realise someone had come to see him until they'd taken a seat at the table across from him.

Bobby was quite cheerfully recounting everything he knew about valve radios when, suddenly, he stopped, and thought, _Brother!_

Rather misleadingly so, Lyle thought, as it wasn't Ethan sitting across the table, it was Jarod. But it was Bobby, and, to Bobby's mind, Jarod was his brother, just like Kyle had been, but not quite the same way Ethan was. Bobby was Bobby. He was also a weird kid.

Lyle said, "Jarod."

Gem wasn't any better, it was obvious from the look on Jarod's face, the look that didn't quite match his demeanor, if not from Bobby's sudden annoying urge to make big eyes and stare. The kid didn't get subtlety, unless of course, he suddenly decided he did. It really all depended. Right now, he would have been perfectly happy to stare creepily until the cows came home, or he opened his silly little gob.

"I think you know why I'm here," Jarod replied coldly, clearly keeping as much distance between them as possible.

Lyle didn't say that he didn't know, Bobby knew, so he knew, too. Gem wasn't getting better, he was getting worse. One second, Bobby was there, the next, he wasn't. If it had freaked Bobby out that badly, Lyle supposed it must have been serious. He'd been so happy to see Jarod, his "brother"!

He stood up to get a coffee, leaving Jarod at the table to wait until he got back. He didn't say that he'd be coming back, but it was fairly obvious by the fact that he hadn't finished his meal. With B gone, he could have a coffee, no worries.

He ordered Jarod a coffee, too. He'd might as well try to blend in. They weren't too far from a Centre facility where he'd be easily recognised, after all; a little effort wouldn't go astray.

He waited for the young woman to fix their coffees and bring them to the counter, before going back to the table, knowing full well that she'd be watching, thinking, _Who's this now?_ Most everyone in small towns did it, like they had nothing better to do. It didn't hurt that she was Toby's kid's aunt - mother's sister - either, and that she'd "never liked that Toby, from the start".

"Sure, I know why you're here," he said, finally, setting Jarod's coffee down at the table and sitting down, again. He tossed his head. "What do you want from me?"

"You know who did this," Jarod accused softly, ignoring the coffee sitting in front of him.

"I've a fairly good idea as to who did, but, to be honest, I don't see how it's any of my business to go diggin' after that sort of trouble. Ask me, I'd be pointin' my finger at the Tower. It's _all over_ their style, and it's not as though they're not good for it! See, this is how I see it. That kid's trouble, trouble for their little prophecy, trouble for them. They don't need the trouble, the way they see it, so they take care of it. Simple as that. Kid ain't part of the prophecy, that be you. He doesn't matter to them, you do. Do you see how easy it is, for them? There's no, no difficulty in giving the go ahead, no regret. They're not losing anything; they're gaining you. With the kid out of the way, you're free to be you. If they could have it their way, they'd do the same thing to your whole family." He put a hand to his chest. "Me, I don't know what you think I'm supposed to do about that, or why I'd give a shit, to begin, but it ain't my problem. It's your problem." He pointed a finger at Jarod. "I don't even know you."

"You owe me this!" Jarod growled, his eyes flashing darkly.

"Really?" Lyle asked, feigning confusion. "No. I don't owe you shit, Jarod, so fuck off! I don't owe you nothing. I left off with your girl - you can't ask me anythin' else."

Jarod laughed menacingly. "You left Emily alone because you knew, if you did anything to her, you'd have me to answer to!" he spat.

"Cute. You can work the 'big brother' thing. Great. Unfortunately, I couldn't give two hoots. I'm talkin' about Parker!" He sighed tiredly. "Why, exactly, do you imagine I'd... _give a damn_ about your sister, Wonder Boy?" He laughed, giving Jarod a funny look. "You're real funny, but now I'd like you to really _fuck off_!"

"Can't do that," Jarod told him.

"What the fuck? Did I not make myself clear enough, genius! Am scray. AKA, in plain English: Fuck off."

Jarod took something out of his pocket and opened his palm over the table. Noah's beads.

"Let me guess," Lyle said, "you'll let me have that back, but there's a price? I gotta say, it's a tempting offer, but you can keep it. Jewellery's not part o' the uniform. Gettin' expelled is no fun, these days. It's all yours. Have fun with that." He smiled.

"Guess again, sociopath!" Jarod snarled meanly, a dark, gleeful little light coming into his eyes. "I don't give you this. Instead, I give it to the Tower, along with your name. I tell them you know the whereabouts of Noah's remains - and they come after you!"

"Ever the sport, I see," Lyle replied. "One thing, though; one teensy, tiny problem. Do you really think they'll let you go again, after they've got you." He frowned. "I don't think so."

"They'll let me go when I volunteer to help track down the dead squirt's remains!" Jarod quipped, with that _So very pleased_ light in his eye.

"You're an adorable little piece of work, aren't you?" Lyle replied. "That's Miss Parker's twin, you realise. Oh, but you do!" He smiled. "Oh, you're cute. You really are. But I'm sorry, I can't help you. Still can't help you. So, go on, say something really clever! Something that'll really make me angry!"

Jarod glared back at him silently.

"No? Goodness me. Dear, dear me. And I was all... excited. I was so... _Go, you!_" He clenched his fist."_I know you can do it! I know it!_ And you just... Nothing." He leant back, looking kinda _Hmm._ "Nothing." He leant forward again, closer to the table. "And isn't that just so... you." He went for a serious tone. "What do you really think I can do for you, and that... thing you call your brother? Hmm? What? I'm not hearing anything? Speak. Say something, for goodness sake! Enough with the glary face!"

"I know he was Healed," Jarod finally said, in a low voice.

Lyle laughed. "O-! O. M." He put on a frown, making a big show of searching for the right word. "G!" He grinned. "Healed! No! Isn't that a bit... naughty!" He dropped the smile. "Say, what does Space Boy say? The doctor concurs?"

Eric Thompson, ET. Space Boy. Jarod threw him a glare. "He doesn't think he's been Healed before. But then again, he doesn't know jack shit, either! He doesn't know we're Pretenders! He didn't know _you_ were an Empath! He doesn't know diddly squat!"

"I see," Lyle replied, with wide, alarmed eyes. He nodded. "Wow." He glared at Jarod, suddenly. "What did you expect?"

Jarod scowled. "The Healer who Healed my brother in the first place!"

Lyle made a face, glaring at him. "I don't know who that is." He tossed his head. "Go ring some... psychic hotline. Maybe they'll know."

Jarod sighed. "I know you're using your Empathic glamour to whip up some cutesy little conversation between the two of us in these people's minds, but the moment your Reaper pals arrive, the deal's up, game's done! Guess what? I got a gun! Who do you want me to shoot first?" He took out a gun from his jacket and pointed it at Toby's kid's aunt, busy wiping down a table near theirs. "Her?"

"I am telling you," Lyle sighed, "the truth, Jarod. Take it or leave it. Put that thing away; you're scaring the sparrows. That vampire shit doesn't work on them. If Chimps isn't getting anythin' saying he's been Healed before, it's probably because he hasn't been."

"Or it was the Mysterious Healer," Jarod replied darkly, now pointing the gun at him.

"The Mysterious Healer," Lyle reeled off. "Healed Miss Parker in college; her little friend, too. Healed her ulcer, most recently. And, oh, Kyle." Jarod growled, but Lyle ignored him. "Who else? Let me think. Gemini? No... I'm not seein' it."

"Miss Parker's clone," Jarod added scathingly. "CC Parker."

"Cindy," Lyle replied.

"You know who the Mysterious Healer is."

"Prove it!" Lyle shot. "I'm just a high school dropout from Where The Hell, Again?, Nebraska who thinks he's _all that_ with the ladies, and reeeal _special_, cos he's got special powers," he shook his head, "aside from the not so hot with relationships thing. Or people thing." He laughed dimwittedly. "What the fuck would I know about some Mysterious fuckin' Healer? Huh, genius! Mystery ain't exactly my best card! It ain't even my second best." He pointed a finger at Jarod. "Come to it, I don't even believe in the Mysterious Healer. T-Corp mumbo jumbo, self-elevatin' crap! They jus' want us to think they all got some _mysterious_ power over us! It's 100 per-cent pure bullshit. So how come you believe in it? Ain't you supposed to be, I dunno, like clever? Snap out of it, bro! It's not healthy."

He sighed, dropping his shoulders. "That's sad. That's really, really sad. You really believe in this shit."

"I don't think anything can top you for sad, psycho loser," Jarod replied. "But whilst we're on the topic, no, I don't believe in the Mysterious Healer. I think it's Nash."

Lyle sighed. "I can't help you there, I'm afraid," he replied. "You wanna take the kid to see the Daughter of Nash, be my guest. Just be sure you can front up with the money. You still got a couple of months until your affiliation with the Centre runs out. They can't touch you! But don't let 'em near your parents, or that sister o' yours. Who knows, girl may be able to help. They say she's the best. But I'm sorry, I can't get you an invitation to that party. You gotta do that yourself. You might wanna put that gun away now and leave."

Jarod glared at him.

"Don't be a pain, okay. Just go." He wiped the blood from his nose onto the back of his hand and stood up, reaching over to grab Jarod's coffee. "Catch you later." He winked.

Jarod got up and walked out. What an idiot!

Lyle sighed, willing his breathing to stay calm and even. He'd be paying for it later, but that hardly mattered. Like he was going to let RB get Jarod. Shit no! If it was anyone, it would be Mel. But, honestly, the stupid shit Jarod came out with sometimes!

"Your friend didn't like the coffee?" Toby's kid's aunt asked, walking over to collect his empty mug.

"It's fine, Evelyn. It's real nice coffee. He's goin' easy on the caffeine," he replied. "His loss."

She pulled a face. What a creep! She didn't know how he knew her name, but she'd sure as shit never told him it, and her name tag said "Joy", which was what the customers called her; Hell, even her sister's ex, Toby, seemed to think it was her name. How ever this one knew it, she didn't like it one bleedin' morsel. "It's Joy," she told him sourly, and walked off.

"Joy. Of course." He sighed. What was the use, really? The damage was already done. He really had to learn to shut his bloody mouth! He make a quick beeline to the toilets to throw up. What the Hell was he supposed to do now? Not only was Jarod getting around harbouring dangerous illusions about Nash being the Mysterious Healer, he was always playing the Threat card; as in, I threaten you with this, and you pay up. Next it would be, Shit, y'know what, reckon it was that Nash that rescued that kid, in the first place. Reckon he's not dead at all, on account of how fuckin' wonderful Nash is! Can Heal anythin', that one.

And that kind of thinking would be very, very bad. Sure maybe it was true, but Jarod was rationalising it all the wrong way, and that could end up getting him, and a lot of others along the way, killed. Including his family.


	8. Chapter 8

Lorna and Pryde were good girls, nice girls, but kids picked on them. They were Afro-American, and their skin was dark, so the other kids made jokes at their expense and laughed and pointed, pretended like they weren't the same, people with feelings and dreams, hopes and desires. But 14-year-old Lorna and her younger sister, 11-year-old Pryde, were nice girls; they let all of the other kids' meanness just roll off them. Meanness didn't warrant meanness in return, except in a mean world. They lived in a good world, not a mean world.

Lorna and Pryde made Bobby smile, and they made Lyle smile, too. Friday after school, they listened to songs on the jukebox in the diner. Joy always gave Lyle funny looks when he wasn't looking, like maybe he was a weirdo. The girls, if they chanced to catch her eye, just smiled at her. They didn't believe those looks; at home, they laughed in humour - oh Joy, she was so well-meaning. Goodness, when was her man gonna come along. _Make it soon_, Lorna prayed for her. In the diner, they sung love songs from days gone by and thought of Joy. Love is alive!

Lorna's new favourite singer was V V Brown. She hummed along to her single on the radio. Pryde clicked her fingers. Secretly, it was their mother's opinion that they were too loud. They were typical kids, these days. Winding up when they should have been winding down. She read parenting books; watched daytime chat shows, when she could. She asked other mothers how they did it and got answers that either made her want to cry, or laugh: by the skin of our teeth, the other mothers replied.

She wondered if it stemmed from her, if it was somehow reactionary. She worked late, after-school hours. The kids didn't have a sitter; they went to the diner, stayed until eleven, got a taxi cab home. Lorna had keys. She was a responsible girl, but too loud. Her dreams, were all too loud. She shouted them out when she should have locked them away, safe and sound, in her Dear Diary. Shouldn't have shared them so easily.

Lorraine worried about her girls, was all; like any mother would, any parent would. Then, one evening, when she'd got off work early and come to pick up the girls an' take them home, Joy told her about that man. Didn't like him, she said, didn't like him around the kids.

At home, she took Pryde aside. Couldn't hope to get anything out of her under the watchful eye of her older sister; special, little club, they thought they were in, a club she wasn't included in. Taking a seat on the couch in the lounge, Pryde hummed along to V V Brown's _L.O.V.E._ playing only for her, patting her small hand on the arm of the sofa.

Lorraine took a seat beside her on the old couch and leant closer to collect up her youngest child's hands. They were warm; a wave of relief took her over. But it was small comfort, as she recalled the angle of Joy's nod, the insistence in her eyes. Someone at that age shouldn't have been bothering some young girls, Joy had told her, very sure.

"Baby girl, Mommy needs to ask you something. Is that okay?"

"Sure," Pryde answered, nodding. "Shoot, Lorrie girl. You got my ears."

Lorraine nodded, trying her best to reassure her daughter with a smile. "That man from the diner-"

Pryde nodded again, her eyes narrowed. "I get you, Lorrie Ann," she interrupted. "I don't think he's strange, and neither does Lorna. Lorna says he's got a kid like us, that's why he sees us like... like we're someone, too. She says he misses his kid. Maybe his kid's far away."

She shrugged one shoulder. "I thought maybe it was because he felt old - he _is_ old, Momma - and... because we reminded him of when he was a kid, so that's why he wanted to hang. But Lorna says it's not just that. She says he's not that old!"

She frowned. "Momma, he never touched us anyhow we thought was bad, you know. I know what you thinkin', but it isn't li'e that. He gives us money for the jukebox and snacks; he's cool. He says he likes being our friend. Lorna asked him, too. He says it makes him feel like a person. Having friends, Momma. Lorna says it would be mean to tell him to go to Hell. She says old people have delicate feelings. They can get hurt easily, then they do stupid stuff. He isn't mean to us."

She averted her eyes from Lorraine's, abruptly, to the lounge room door. "He helps Lorna with Math. She says it really helps when he explains it to her." She frowned. "Please, Momma," she whipped her gaze back to Lorraine's, "please don't make Lorna give up her friend. The kids at school are mean to her but she says she can let it go because they're just kids and kids don't know some stuff. Kids don't know when they're being small-minded cos they don't know what being bi-big-, I mean broad-minded is like. They stay the same until they grow up and get to see more of life. When they see we're not really different, they will change, she says. She smiles, if I'm around, but I know it hurts her that they're so mean."

She sniffed. "She says they only pick on her cos she's the same, not cos she's different. Cos they see the same thing in her that they see in themselves. She says people don't say mean things to animals; they just kill them or treat them badly and think they can't feel that it should be different. She always makes it sound better than it is cos she's scared of what I'll think; she's scared of scaring me. Please don't take her friend away. It means the world to her, havin' a friend does."

Lorraine, who'd never heard Pryde talk about one thing for so long, and never so seriously, was struck in shock, taken aback. She felt angry and jealous at the same time. She could have helped her own daughter with her Math... if she hadn't worked nights. She could have been her kids' friend - if someone else hadn't butted in! If they'd spent some more time together; if the kids hadn't always been at school when she'd been at home, and she hadn't always been at work, when the kids were home. She could have been there for them - so some stranger wouldn't have to be!

But how dare he! He wasn't even _like_ them, Joy had informed her. He had money, he was from out-of-state; he was white! What did he know of the cruelness of people, of the ignorant hurtfulness? What could he _possibly_ know?

He was either some creep who thought she was some shitty mother, or he was some creep who liked kids. Either way, he was a sick creep.

"Stay here, okay," she told her youngest. "Mommy will be right back."

In the kitchen, she made her daughters fairy bread and hot chocolate, then she got them both into the lounge for supper before bed. Hugging each of her daughters, she sent Pryde to bed first, making the excuse that Lorna could stay up for a little bit to help her wash up the plates and cups.

Lorna saw through her excuse, but hugged her little sister and promised to join her soon. Pryde said she didn't believe in monsters in the dark, and Lorna patted her shoulder on her way out the door. She didn't let her sad face show until her sister was gone from sight.

"I don't like you being friends with this man," Lorraine told her daughter, carrying the cups to the kitchen whilst Lorna carried the plates and crumpled serviettes. "He's sick, sweet pea. You see that, don't you?"

"We're all sick, Mom," Lorna replied, in a small, sad voice. "It's the stuff we eat. It's too refined. It's our medicines. We're too dependent on the quick fix; we forget to maintain our machines. We don't pay attention to our bodies, we're told we shouldn't love ourselves unless we're rich and we can spend our money on fast cars, sh-sh-shiny bling bling and illicit drugs, the 'good stuff', honey baby. Mental health doesn't go hand-in-hand with the health of the rest of us. But we lie to each other and ourselves. We're mean but we don't mean to be any more than we mean to be anything else. We do what's easy, what gives us our little happinesses, our little triumphs; we look out for us and our lot. We don't see how that's us all because it's hard and it hurts, when you're one person and the other people don't think the same thing as you. If you think family when they think money, if you think future and they think now, you always hurt. And people don't like hurt. Pain isn't a reason to live. Mom."

She sighed, dumping the serviettes in the trash under the sink and placing the plates in the sink. "Don't you ever feel... down? Everyone does. But should we just turn our backs on them, when they do, or should we stand with them and show them that we're living, we're still soldiering on, and it's because there's good stuff in the world, too!"

She shook her head. "Maybe he doesn't feel happy for himself, anymore, but he's happy for us when we are, Mom. He's not trying to steal us from you; he's not trying to win our trust for any shady purpose. When all you ever see is people's frowns and scowls, you miss seeing someone smiling. Sometimes, you feel like you could scream; it feels so hopeless. Then you see someone smiling, someone having a good time, and you feel a bit better cos you know that if that person can find a moment of happiness in the bleak and grey landscape you live in, then you can too. You've just gotta let yourself see the colours again. The sunshine is there, even if you can't feel it. It's there."

Lorraine, struck by a sudden sense of loneliness in her firstborn, in this sad, beautiful child that was hers, stepped forward and enveloped the teen in a hug. "I wish you'd never have to feel hurt or disappointment. Your sister and you, both. But I see I've been powerless and blind. You've been hurting for a long time, and I couldn't see it. I hurt, too, but I couldn't see the hurt in you because it would mean added hurt for me. I didn't want to see it. I'm sorry, sweetie! I'm so sorry! But I'm here, now. I'm ready to listen, baby."

When she'd asked, "How do you live in a mean, cruel world?", he'd told her: "You've got to figure out what's important to you. Maybe that's not as easy as it sounds, and maybe, as we go on in our lives, what's important to us will change, but whatever happens, we weren't put on this earth to just give up." When you knew what was important to you, that's just what you lived for.

Lorna believed that her family was important to her. Her family made her happy, even if, sometimes they made her sad, too. She always came back to family, in her thoughts. When she worried, she worried about herself, but she worried about her little sister, her mother, too. She could see them happy, and it made her happy; but when she saw them sad and down, it made her just down; she needed to find a way to pick them up again.

She'd decided what was her reason for living: a good life, a little laughter, and her loved ones.

.

The kid had recently been enrolled in high school. Parker had driven him, herself, for his first day. He'd been listening to his Walkman with a concerted frown, but when she'd gone for a hug, he'd hugged her back and put his Walkman away. She hadn't asked what he'd been listening to. She'd watched him walk away from her and she'd felt gladness for him. Even if it was only four days a week, it was a start. A great start.

.

After dropping the kids at school that Friday, Lorraine swung by the diner. When Joy spotted her, they sat down for a coffee together and Joy explained that the guy came in for lunch most Fridays. She didn't know what he did, but he was sure strange, and she didn't like him. She couldn't say why, exactly, but she just didn't. He gave her an uneasy feeling.

Lorraine sighed wearily and nodded, offering Joy her thanks.

Joy nodded back and stood up - time to get back to work - patting her shoulder on her way back to the counter. "Take it easy, Lorraine."

"Always do. Can't do anything else, can we."

"No," Joy agreed humourously. What else could they do.

.

After many, many sessions, Eric had successfully been able to stabilise RJ's condition; he wasn't getting any worse, but he wasn't getting any better. Eric promised to try, but he didn't have all that much confidence.

On Thursday, he'd had coffee with Jeannie. She hadn't said much, but that had been okay. He'd felt better just for her being there. He'd asked her how Jamal was taking it; she'd shrugged and replied, "Living with it, I guess. Not very cheerfully, but living with it."

And she'd not said much more than that. He hadn't been brave enough to ask her how she was.

.

Lorraine woke up, lifting her head from her arms, and frowned at Joy. God, she'd fallen asleep in public. How embarrassing! Joy hadn't laughed at her, though, she'd just nodded to indicate who'd just arrived.

Glancing at her watch quickly, Lorraine sat up properly, grimacing a quick thanks, and thought about her next move. She decided a coffee was first order.

Coffee was on the house, Joy said.

A little more awake than before, and a coffee later, Lorraine got to her feet and walked over to the guy's table.

Looking at him, he looked like a pretty normal guy. His clothes looked pretty normal, but Joy had been right; that was a damn expensive watch. The scar across his right cheekbone looked fairly new; Lorraine didn't think it lent an air of trustworthiness to his features, and neither did the cut in his hand she spied when he reached for a notebook to scribble something down he'd undoubtably read in that book he was looking at. Something with mechanical drawings in it.

"Excuse me, sir," she interrupted.

He closed the notebook he'd been writing in and the other book he'd been reading and looked up, meeting her eyes. "Of course, Lorraine. Have a seat."

Frowning, she sat down. Uncomfortably. Boy, hadn't Joy got it right! There was sure something not altogether regular with this guy. "My name is..." She fell short, realising he already knew her name.

"Lyle," he replied. "How're the girls?"

Lorraine narrowed her eyes frostily and told him, "The reason I came to see you here, today, sir."

"I see. Mmm. I see what you're asking. You don't want me to talk to them anymore. Someone like me - What the Hell is my problem? They're just kids - Why can't I leave them alone! God, the types in this world!" He sighed. "Ma'am, now I see what you must think of me here. Where does he live, _anyway_? All's that's out there's desert, dude! Sure, sure, I'm from outta-town. Where am I, six days out o' seven? When I ain't here? What do I do? Maybe I don't have a job. But I got enough money to come here ev'ry Friday, got this pricey watch. Ain't no one got no reason to trust someone like me, right? But I ain't askin' you to trust me. Maybe I ain't even askin' you to trust your girls, either. At least, their judgement. They just kids. How many people they known? Their ability to judge peoples' character can't be too well fine-tuned; nothin' as good as Mom's."

He sighed. "I bet you've already had this conversation with your girls, hey. An' you gotta keep your word, Lorrie Ann. Lorna, she's really strugglin'. She needs your support. You came here, today, di'n't you? You gonna be there for them, Lorraine. Believe in yourself, hon. Why not. You're a good person, an' you're doin' your best to be a good mom. But I can talk, right? I left my family. Look at those kids, Lorraine; your girls. They're good kids. They don't start trouble. They got regard for others. They attend school, they do their homework. They obey the routine. They try really hard, just like you, Lorraine. And they pull through. You will, too, Lorrie. As a family, you'll pull through."

He shrugged a shoulder. "You don't want me to talk to them anymore, I'll understand. I won't argue with you. I know when to leave off. I can keep to myself, ma'am. Your choice."

She scowled. She knew he was really saying it was okay for her to make that decision for her girls cos she was the elder, she was the mom. He was making her the bad guy; the one who makes the kids cry. "You stay away from my kids, mister, or there gonna be trouble!" she enunciated coldly.

"Fair enough," he replied, taking something out of his jacket pocket and handing it across the table. A business card.

She took the card, glare firmly in place, and glared down at it. "You write music, Mr. Parker?" she asked darkly. How appropriate! What a joke! What a fuckin' creep!

"Mmm. I do."

"You think I might have heard any of your stuff?"

He shook his head. It wasn't likely.

"Ain't that a pity," Lorraine mocked.

He sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. "It's back. Eric? It's back." He took a careful breath.

Lorraine frowned. "You okay?" she asked, though she couldn't really give a damn about some creep.

"Sure thing, Ms. Mackey. Me, I'm fine." He started to sing _Blue Moon_ quietly to himself, shutting his eyes.

Widening her eyes, Lorraine turned to glance at Joy. At the counter, Joy caught her eye. She left the counter and walked over.

"There a problem, Lorraine?" Joy asked pointedly, but the guy didn't open his eyes. Just kept on singin' that song. Joy crossed her arms, certainly not charmed.

Taking a deep breath, Lyle opened his eyes. "I see." So they had a Healer on this thing, a Healer with Empathy. This Healer had a special connection to the thing that was making Mo sick and was keeping it alive. Eric couldn't help because he couldn't break that connection.

"Wha' do you see?" Joy asked sarcastically.

Lyle shot her a wink, collecting up his books and standing to his feet. "Be seein' you, ladies," he told them, with a smile, turning and heading for the door. How was he going to solve this thing now? It was crazy, and he was crazy over it. So the kid was a clone, it didn't give them an open license to fuck him around the way they were; he was still a human being. But, shit, what was he thinking. The Tower, baby! Wake up and see the reality!

He hummed Katy Perry's _I Kissed A Girl_.

"Crazy fuckin' weirdo!" Joy hissed after him, just loudly enough for he and half the diner to catch.

.

Sue shook her head, walking beside him on the pavement in her cherry-patterned, strapless short-short playsuit and knee-high, apple green platform boots. Arizona was kinda like Vegas, right? Shit, if it wasn't - What the heck! It should have been! She'd never been to Vegas. "These people are on some other level," she aired. She sighed. "How do we kill their machine?" She glanced at him, and pulled a face. "You - are pale! Shit, it don't look cute on you. Me, I rock Dead! You... not so much. What's the story, babe?"

Lyle looked at her, looking ill.

She held up her hands, wiggling her fingers to show off her green, pink diamante-studded fingernails. "It's the nails, isn't it?"

"Hey, you," he said.

She widened her eyes, looking away to the road, for a moment or two. "If that's a Give-me-a-sec'-whilst-I-just-drop-dead 'Hey, you!', then I'll be - somewhere else!" she told him.

He laughed. "It's not, babe. It's not."

"You always say that when you're halfway out the door," she complained.

"Always say what, darl?"

She rolled her eyes. "Babe. Baby."

"That ain't true," he countered.

"Yeah, it's true. You mightn't be hittin' the nearest exit, but inside, you are. Like you always do that so-cute voice when you're really mad at someone for somethin'. Face it, boy. You're predictable."

"Oh," he replied.

She blinked, and sighed heavily. "You're such a clone!"

"Sue me," he joked, smiling at her in amusement.

She rolled her eyes, looking away to a shopfront, for a second. "That's not funny at all," she told him, glancing back his way.

"Nah! Just not a funny guy, huh. Can't win 'em all, can ya?" he replied, punching her in the arm gently.

She made a face, annoyed. "Don't change the subject!" she told him.

"Oh. Oh. Did I?"

"Y-y-yes, twit!" she snapped.

"Oops."

She shook her head. "Pleased to meet ya, wouldn't wanna be ya! Time to make plans, less shenanigans. Later, service elevator-travellin' alligator! Smile, or die!" She laughed wickedly and turned on the spot, disappearing once she'd made a 360.

Lyle rubbed his face with a hand. "Um, what? That- last one d-didn't... rhyme." That girl was pretty odd, sometimes. He continued walking, singing _I Kissed A Girl_.

.

Margaret stared at her eldest son, confused by his words. He'd... he'd said- _promised_ that Mo's condition had stabilised, that it wouldn't get any worse. And now, what was he saying - that Mo was back where he'd started! He was getting worse again! She felt like breaking down in tears and ripping on her hair. This couldn't be happening! It just couldn't be happening!

Jarod tried reaching for her shoulder, share a reassuring hand, then dropped the gesture. It wouldn't work. Mo was sick, really sick. And he was getting worse. Eric could throw everything he had at him and it just wouldn't be good enough.

He suppressed a panicked giggle and turned and left the room. Leave the woman some time alone to sort herself out as best she could. He only wished he could do the same, instead of just jamming it down into that little, dark space in a cold corner of his heart, already crammed and threatening to go. But Pretenders didn't Face, they Pretended. As he would again to keep it together a little longer.

In the car, he grabbed his cell phone and punched in a number, hitting Call.

.

Reaching for the phone on the floor beside his desk, Raines frowned at the ceiling and sat up. No use, his memory wasn't lending him any favours today. "William Raines," he said, into the phone.

"Are you up to speed?" the voice on the other end asked, all business, and nothing else.

"Ah..." He rested the receiver between his ear and shoulder and grabbed the phone, scrambling to his feet and planting the phone back on the desk. He sat down, shaking the mouse. The screen returned to full colour. As before, still asking for his password. He frowned. "No, I'm sorry, technical issues."

"It's Jarod," the voice informed him, sounding distinctly unimpressed.

"When isn't it Jarod," Raines replied.

"_I'm_ Jarod!" Jarod snapped.

Raines smacked a hand to his head. "Jarod, my boy. How's life treatin' you?"

"My brother's dying. I need you."

Raines frowned, looking away from the computer. "Ah... ah, well..."

"Don't you get it!" Jarod ranted. "He's dying!"

"As brothers do," Raines replied conversationally. He was met by a deadly silence. Belatedly, he recalled Kyle. "James, Kyle. Brothers," he added. His brother had died, too, after all. He sighed. "Look, you know I can't do anything. Sorry, but I can't help. We're not on the same side, here, boy."

"Yes, we are!" Jarod returned insistently. "The Tower had you shoot Catherine! The Tower did that! I know you cared for her. They're going to kill _my brother_! My brother - who I care for!"

Raines closed his eyes. "No, Jarod, I did that. I killed Catherine. The Tower didn't do that. I did. I didn't really care for her, and I was sick of the pretence. Now, I trust you when you say- You love your brother. Jarod, I get it. But I can't help you."

"I'll tell them!" Jarod threatened shakily, sounding much more like he might just fall apart.

Raines frowned, starting to get upset. "Jarod, don't put this on me. That isn't me today."

"Please!" Jarod pleaded. Really, in real-life pleaded!

Raines put the phone down. He didn't need to hear that at all. He wasn't about to throw it all away, everything he'd ever worked for, just to even a decades-old score with the Tower. Shit, even if it was the right thing to do. He didn't mix with Tower concoctions anymore; he'd given that shit up long ago. The Tower was downright mean, and anything that they'd mixed up would be downright mean, too. Stuff like that killed people.

He suppressed the urge to call back - even if he could have - and stared at the computer screen, trying, once more, to remember that infernal password. If someone else, some other Healer, ended up dead because of that kid, then it was just as much their own bloody fault for being so fucking stupid. There was nothing he could do. He'd Goddamn promised. Maybe he'd been stupid to, but the kid was his kid. All his life, he'd neglected him in favour of other things, no matter if it had been his choice, it had still only been a ten-year-old's choice, and he'd always been the elder. There should have been something he could do, but he'd never even bothered to look for it. Now, he owed the kid that much. He owed him to stick around. He'd been as much a part of it as the boy.

It didn't feel like the right thing to do - not just because the kid was Jarod and Kyle's brother, or because he was Charles and Margaret's kid, but because he was someone; just by being alive, he was someone - but that was just the price he'd have to pay, the price he'd have to live with. Sometimes, you had to make hard choices, and he'd made his. He had others to think of, not just himself. Maybe he'd have liked to go there right now and fix that kid, at least to try, but that would be selfish; maybe he could look forward to the prospect of leaving this life and possibly meeting Edna and Annie again. But he wouldn't.

It did feel wrong. It felt wrong because he was a Healer, deep down. Deep down, he knew he'd have many more years from now, many more than either Jarod or his brother would have, put together. And, more than him, those kids deserved those years. But he just couldn't do it. Someone else would step in. They would. He had to believe it. He believed in Angelo, believed that he'd never do anything to hurt his friend if it could be helped.

Something would happen. Someone would come along. (Hopefully not too many Healers would die, before the one that could help came along.)

.

Jonas shook his head, his anger clearly evident in his eyes, reaching down a hand to pull him to his feet.

"I'm all right," Lyle told him, getting to his feet.

"_No you're not!_" Jonas shot, barely restraining his fury. "You don't belong here! You ought to be turfed out on your ear! You're not a real Reaper!"

Lyle sighed. "I'm afraid you'll have to take that up with your superior, Jonas."

Jonas glared at him. "You take it up with yours, _Empath_!" he growled menacingly. "Do you _enjoy_ getting the shit beaten out of you?"

Carrera sniggered, from the wall. The freak probably did, actually.

Toby gave them both a nod.

"Jonas, I'm not in any position to contest the Tower's judgment," Lyle replied, frowning at the floor where a blood-covered tooth gleamed up at him.

"That's yours," Jonas growled; he might wanna go grab it. He sighed. "You really pissed them off, _brother_. If you want, I could do you a favour and finish you now," he snickered.

"I think I'll pass," Lyle replied dully.

Jonas laughed and stuck out a hand to grab his shoulder.

Lyle pushed his arm away.

Jonas hissed at the pain, like a short, sharp electrical jolt, and glared at him dirtily. "What the fuck, you freak!"

Calmly, Lyle replied, "I said, 'I'll pass'," and bent over quickly to retrieve his tooth and left the room.

Jonas joined Carrera and Toby by the wall. "What the Hell did _he just say to me_?" he demanded.

Carrera shrugged, but Toby said, "It sounded French to me." He nudged his chin Carrera's direction. "Did you see the way his tooth came out like that? Shit like that doesn't happen to adults, man."

Carrera shrugged again. "The guy's a freak, brother. Who knows what shit happens to freaks like him." He laughed. "And who fucking cares!"

.

Lyle sat down in a corner of the bathroom, staring blankly at the bloody tooth in his palm. It was so much Goddamn bullshit! He felt like laughing. He was really fucking their body up. He wondered if Bobby might yell at him, too, but the kid was quiet; quiet like he wasn't there.

He hummed a French song Sydney liked quite a lot and didn't bother trying to stop himself when he started crying. It actually hurt. Mel was going to be so fucking mad at him if she ever found out how fucking badly he was taking care of her brother's body! Oh fuck! He could never take care of anything, could he! He was fucking useless. Nothing but useless.

That kid was going to die and he was a useless sack of shit. Didn't even deserve to be called that.

He stopped humming and just cried. Sydney's mother had used to sing that song for him, but she was dead, dead and gone. If she lived, she'd forgotten all about Sydney and Jacob; her two boys didn't mean shit to her these days. She might have passed Sydney in the street and thought, _Christ, I never want to get that old_.

_And you're a real fuckin' asshole_, he told himself. _Way to stab your grandmother in the back and twist, bud!_

_I'm sorry, Greta. I'm sorry we could do that to each other; inflict such damage upon our brothers and sisters so that though they were afraid for their _lives_, they'd not dare rebel, not dare fight back. Please, grandmother, in this life - don't let them take your life! It's yours, honey. It's yours and they have no fuckin' right._

_I know you weren't a bad person, and you weren't different at all, but if giving up your life for nothing is the price you have to pay to prove you're one of us, never give up! We'll love you, anyway, if we're worth anything in this world; if we know anything about closeness and comradeship and love. We'll love you anyway, if you're just you. They can take anything, but they can't take your life - they can't take your spirit!_

_It's bullshit, Greta, and don't you buy it._

He closed his hand, sick of looking at that stupid tooth, and cried quietly to himself. _I'm sorry, Greta. I'm sorry I gave up. But I don't want you to do the same. You must be brave. The bravest of us all. You must live and never let them take that from you, never give up until you know, until you know for sure, you've lived all you could. Humans are such wasteful creatures. But you're not like that. You understand how precious life is, because it's never really the same again, so you've got to live the life you're given and you've got to love the people who love you and respect the world as it respects us._

_Grandmother, I hope you're happy, wherever you are. I hope you're living your life and you still remember how to smile. I hope that when you smile you see how magical it is, see the power it has in a person's heart, how it can spread and make others smile too. How beautiful it is, like life. Something like that, how can you give it up. You've got to love it and look after it; you've got to hold it safe inside your heart, keep it warm on cold days. Your own secret weapon. A smile in your heart can get you through so much, no matter what cold winds come your way, and the misfortunes, a smile that you can share will warm your heart when it's gone all to ice. And just to prove it to you..._

He smiled.


	9. Chapter 9

Emily snapped shut the romance novel she'd been reading - a Rita Clay Estrada from the '80s; "new, compelling stories of passionate romance for today's woman" - and stashed it away in her bag, slinging it back over her shoulder and gaining her feet. She crossed to the car that had just pulled up at the curb and pulled open the door, getting in. She sighed. "I don't know, Jarod, I just don't think this is such a great idea. Eric may be able to help. I don't know. He helped before. Can't we give him another go?"

Jarod put the car in gear and drove off. "No. You don't know the Tower, Em. Not like I do. Not like Lyle does. He can help us, and he's just going to have to play ball, or I'll have to insist. He's the only Empath I know, not including Angelo, and this is way out of Angelo's depth. A Class Two can't do this thing; just possibly, a Class Five might have a chance. It's gotta be a Six or Seven who's behind this, coupled with the fact that they're also a Healer. This is serious, Emily. T-Corp doesn't do this kind of thing. It's definitely Tower. I'm sorry, I know this is going way, way out of your comfort zone..."

"I take it it didn't work out with your old associate, then," she replied, fiddling with the ring she now wore on her ring finger.

"'Didn't work out' is stating it lightly. To be frank, it crashed and burned. That's what it did, Em. A total failure."

"That's too bad," Emily sighed.

Jarod tossed his head, keeping his focus ahead, on the road. "In honesty, I didn't expect a _yes_. I guess that's just how it goes."

"That people couldn't give a damn," Emily added.

"Yes."

.

It was an expensive watch - a Tissot, a Swiss watch, a wind-up - but a good watch. Very accurate. And entirely harmless to his colony. Unlike his cell phone, it didn't freak his upgrades out a single bit, and for that, he was thankful. That, and Reapers couldn't interfere with it in any way, shape or form other than to physically break it, in contrast to what they usually did to modern technical devices the likes of security cameras and walkie-talkies, when the fancy took them, or during tactical ops. Most of the time, it was just interference, but they could, if they wanted, ruin a piece of tech like that. All too easily. Which was why it was important they were well-trained.

Though he'd been a tech for a long time, working with computers, he'd not started out with the entire world - or, at least, those of it that cared - knowing that he was a Reaper. Back in those days, he'd merely been a Pretender. The suspicions of having the Inner Sense hadn't come until much later, too; when Miss Parker had 'found out' that he was her brother, and, therefore, Catherine's son. Heck, they'd never even known he was an Empath - the Centre, in any case, hadn't known - until it had all come out that he wasn't, in fact, a Pretender or an ISP. But it hadn't happened all at once, and they also believed him to be insane, which didn't hurt, in most cases.

So, past grievances aside, he hadn't been doing too badly. He'd even gotten to L7, Tower-level operative without them becoming any the wiser, worked as an L5 trainer training Sweepers. All of this looked to support that he was, in fact, a Reaper. The fact that he wasn't, in reality, remained secret. Because he'd claimed to be an Empath primarily, and had been able to back that claim up, everything was running smoothly. So he didn't have the telekinesis and he couldn't Heal himself. None of that mattered. He was a Reaper secondarily. He'd gotten away with it. And as only a Class Five. He had a lot to be thankful for, in that regard.

He had the time to work on things, now. Had the time to work on convincing them of his being a Reaper. He'd get there, in the end, he supposed. Had to tell a few lies along the way; lied and said he'd had the AH serum, which was why he always said "No, thank you" to Healers, but what was it but a harmless lie. It was for their own protection. He'd never been Healed before in his life, and he wasn't about to make an exception. His Empathy was too unpredictable nowadays that he couldn't risk it without running the risk of killing anyone who tried. Killing Healers was like a bad omen, in their world, and it was a sad shit thing to do, especially when it might have ended up turning out that you'd need them, later on down the track. So he refrained.

He'd been very lucky he hadn't hurt Mel in any lasting way, pulling the stunt he had. But he wouldn't have attempted it if he hadn't been very sure it wasn't going to hurt her. He'd been sure; as sure as he'd ever been about anything. Now, even though he did miss her, and the kid, and yeah, there were others, too; he could see that it had been for the better. Life was much easier now, for her and for him, he imagined. She didn't have him to worry about and he could tell himself, _Come on, she's not a little kid anymore; quit worrying about her, she'll be all right_ and actually believe it, somewhat. He could, for instance, live the rest of his life pretending he really was a Reaper and doing as he was told in that regard and pretending that he really did have a life when, in reality, it was just a lie. He could do that now, because he was tired. He was just tired. And he didn't want the continual struggle anymore.

He just wanted to do this one thing, and when it came time to die, then he'd just want to die. It was much simpler, much easier, and if he thought, for a second, that it really was a copout, then what the Hell, he really was an asshole, and he knew it.

But he could handle it.

And this thing with Gem. This thing with Gem had nothing to do with him. Jarod - and his entire lot - no longer concerned him. Cathy and Maggie had been friends, but he'd never really been Cathy's son, and he still wasn't. Maggie's kids weren't his friends, and they never would be.

His life was simple now. Much more simpler, much less stressful. It was almost peaceful. At least it would be, one day. The fact was, he didn't want to care. Not anymore. And, one day, he wouldn't have to. One day, he'd just be able to live from one day to the next and say, "Hell, what happens tomorrow happens. I'll come to that when I come to it." Life didn't have to be hard, he'd just always had a habit of making it that way.

He was starting a new life now, as he'd promised himself. And that was just what he'd do.

.

Bobby stared at the calendar with wide, wide eyes, trying to make the words and numbers stay still by sheer force of will, but they still swum about. He didn't feel so good. In reality, he felt very, very bad. Lyle was having serious problems, mentally - or maybe _he_ was - but whatever, he didn't like it. They weren't really separate people, in any case; it was just Lyle who liked to believe so because it was easier, that way; easier to escape facing up to the past when it hadn't been _his_ past.

Bobby made a face, stepping closer to the calendar and squinting at it. What day was it?

He tried tracing along the column to find out the day, at the top, but the red Xs kept distracting him so that he got confused an started to draw lines all over the place instead of straight.

Why did they have Xs, anyway? He didn't like that. People used Xs at the end of cards and letters to mean hugs, but what was the X on a calendar supposed to mean. I have hugged someone today? I embrace the day, completely; I embrace my present, for the past is the past and the future will be the future?

He turned away from the calendar. Too much red! There was too much red. Red and white. Like Christmas candy. He'd never had candy canes, but they'd always looked splintery and hard, like broken bones and... And he lost his train of thought.

He needed to know what day it was, it was important, because Jarod was coming. He wanted Lyle to help. Geronimo was sick again, and Jarod needed his help, but Bobby already knew that Lyle would say _no_, when Jarod asked. It didn't matter what he might have done in the past, now, he wouldn't help. He'd given up caring about stuff. When that had happened to him, Bobby remembered, he'd changed, withdrew. He'd become Lyle. But Lyle had still cared, in a way, had still respected who they'd been before, who _he_'d been, and this new person that Lyle was turning into, Bobby wasn't so sure they'd care much about anything. It scared him very much.

It wasn't that he didn't love his brother, but it was abundantly clear that Geronimo wasn't the only sick one. Geronimo might have been physically sick, but Lyle was much sicker than that, even, and Bobby couldn't face talking to him again just to have him tell him _he_ didn't know what he was fucking talking about and to butt out!

If he could find out when Jarod was coming, maybe he could go, instead. He didn't hold any illusions that he might have been strong enough to take over control of their body, but he could do his best in his temporary body. The only drawback was that, whether or not he could help the kid - Lyle had always been the one who'd done the Healing - he was only further and further damaging their body, in the process. Physically manifesting a body as he'd had to do ran the real risk of killing them, and that would mean the end for them all.

He'd tried appealing to Noah, he'd really tried hard, but Noah, as he'd been since escaping the South African facility, had been silent, never with anything to contribute.

As he was waiting for some speck of insight to strike him, Carrera and Toby walked by, talking about the movie they were going to see tomorrow.

It was Thursday, Bobby surmised, scruffing up his hair and patting it back down again, absently. He still had no idea how on Earth was he going to get past Lyle's mental defences to take control. He might have been the more Empathic, the way most people looked at it, merely due to the fact that he didn't screen everything as much as Lyle did, and it might have been leading up to a change of hands, but it wasn't there yet. No matter what else he believed, and he liked to put himself down a lot, Bobby had noticed, his brother was still a damn good Empath.

Watching as Carrera and Toby disappeared into another room, he sighed. Heck, what the Hell, anything was worth a shot once, right! And if it was to save a life, damn, why not! It was for Jarod's little brother. How could he honestly say _no_ to that? If they weren't brothers, they were certainly... something. They all had the gene, and they'd all had people trying to control how their lives went and didn't go. That was enough for him.

For a change, he actually felt a little spark of motivation. He had something to do and a reason to do it. Yes, he decided, he would do his very best, and maybe then Lyle would decide he really didn't want to give up, after all, he'd decide it wasn't the worst thing in the world to be the good example.

.

As hard as she tried, Emily couldn't seem to get off to sleep. She'd stayed up 'til eleven watching pointless rubbish on TV, then she'd had a cup of warm milk and went to bed, but her eyes just didn't seem to want to stay shut, and her mind kept bringing up questions that it later insisted on her figuring out the answers to.

She turned over restlessly and put the pillow over her head, just wanting to get a few hours of sleep. Why did that have to be so much to ask for, really?

At half past four, hearing the distant sounds of the end of Jarod's conversation with Miss Parker, she sat up and clicked on the light, reaching for her romance novel. Maybe after two or three chapters she'd feel more like sleeping.

Feeling for the bead bracelet in her bag, she dug it out and slipped it on her wrist, sitting back against the bedhead to read.

.

"You'd best put that thing away where no-one can see it," Jarod told her, on his way past her in the bathroom, that morning, as she was brushing her teeth. "Let's not get started on why you brought it with you, in the first place! Just put it away."

She passed him his electric shaver and turned on the tap. "Do you mind not watching me spit?" she asked, with a mouthful of toothpaste. "I heard you. I'll put it away. Scoot."

Jarod walked off with the shaver, pulling the door ajar after him.

Emily rolled her eyes.

When they finally sat down in some little café for breakfast, her coffee, and everything else, tasted that little bit like toothpaste, and she tried to ignore the fact that she didn't actually enjoy her food tasting like spearmint. She'd put the bracelet away in a little pocket in her bag, on with a little, matching zipper. No-one, short of perving in her bag and going through its entire contents, would even know it was there.

She'd thought, seeing as it was Lyle's, that giving it back to him might be a little incentive in the right direction. Even if it failed, it was still worth a try. At least, she thought so. There weren't very many material things Jarod was attached to, but she had a few; she understood very well how some people felt about their material possessions. They'd assign importances to them, things that had happened, and those importances would make them special, important. Like the silver shooting star pin her father had given her in boarding school, and she now felt secure enough to wear on her coat. It _was_ just a shooting star. But to her, it was much more. It was a symbol of her dad's love, of his care, though he was far away. It meant he was still her dad, and she was still his little girl; no matter what, it meant they were still a family. It was a nice, if not old, promise. And however old, she still believed in it.

.

Bobby didn't know Emily, in fact, he'd never seen her before, so when she walked into the diner, he thought nothing of it. Lyle wasn't very happy with him, and, as such, was being unco-operative. If Joy's negativity towards him wasn't bad enough, enough to make him want to be ill, he'd forgotten one key thing about himself; he really, really sucked at reading and writing. In fact, his teachers had called it _illiterate_ and they'd called him a _dim-witted nuisance_ and a disruptive influence in class. He didn't really say anything against their judgement, he'd just been somewhat sceptical of how they could call him disruptive for the other students when he was hardly ever _in_ class, quite often being sent out and off to the Principal's office.

Right now, however, he had to agree with his former teachers. He felt a lot like a dim-witted nuisance. Discovering that his literacy hadn't improved any, he'd felt a lot like slapping himself for his annoyingness. Of course, why should it have improved? There was no reason whatsoever for it to have, and he now felt like an idiot for being so full of himself earlier.

He got by by Reading the diner, searching for some small imprint, a lingering flicker, of what had passed before. If he'd so much as wanted to Read Joy, he'd have ended up on the floor puking his guts up. She had a very, very forceful negative energy towards him, and it had the habit of stretching across any space that might have been put between them and invading his personal space, urging him to clear out. He didn't know how Lyle had ignored it, but it was making him feel very, very ill. He'd not even taken more than two sips of his glass of water, he felt that ill, and now sat staring at the pictures in a newspaper, feeling all the more ill, and disturbed, for his efforts.

He found the section with the weather forecasts and stared at it for a long time, beginning to frown, which was about when Emily walked in.

He heard her high heels on the linoleum. They were very loud, and pink, he guessed, without looking. When she was going for a womanly air, she always thought of pink first, instead of red or black. He didn't know if he agreed, because a lot of people would think pink hinted more at the younger side, the girl, rather than the woman. Of course, it all depended what it was teamed with, he supposed, and perhaps, to her, it suggested playful the way some people thought a little glance out of the corner of your eye that you gave to someone and held for just a beat longer than usual was playful, or biting your lip, of twisting a lock of hair around your finger.

He sighed, closing the paper. It wasn't as though he was going to get up and ask her, really. He stood up and walked up to the counter to return the paper, in case anyone else - the woman, included - felt like reading it.

To go with her pink high heels, she was wearing a low-cut, black and white polka dot dress with a hemline that fell well above the knee, and a long, red winter coat. A little silver pin was pinned to the front of her coat on the left side, of a shooting star. It had been a gift from someone she hadn't known very well but had, nonetheless, felt very close to, in her preteens or early in her teens. Much more than her bright clothes and high-heeled shoes, it made her feel bold, to wear that pin so blatantly, here.

Bobby smiled a little bit, on the inside. Sometimes, it wasn't always frightening, and it didn't always fill you with uncertainty, doing something you thought brave; sometimes, you very a great gladness, like you could just do anything, really be yourself. Sometimes, it was one of the very best feelings in the world.

Bold might have been the girl's brightest, strongest emotion, but it was like a flame, it danced as well as distracted, and it was what she'd taken hold of to distract herself from another emotion. Underneath the nervousness, unfairness, unhappiness and anger was another emotion. She felt like no matter what she did, nothing would ever amount to enough to make the right amount of difference, the difference that was needed. She felt useless and hopeless, and it wasn't just a little useless, or a little hopeless, that she'd find it nearly impossible, if her car broke down and she ever had to repair it, or if she'd just finished typing up something on her computer and the hard drive packed up and she lost all her work. It was persistent and pervasive and she fully believed it to be the truth.

She was useless. She was useless, and what was more, it was probably - it was _definitely_ - her own fault. She did all the wrong things, made all the wrong choices; she didn't see far enough ahead, whenever she made plans, in her mind, she didn't see broad enough, in her vision, she was selfish and impatient and a child. She wasn't a woman and she wasn't grown up and that was probably why she'd never made any lasting, truly affectionate relationships. That was probably why she felt so drawn to conflict instead of co-operation, and why she couldn't stand failure, because what did she have to fall back on? If she failed at something, wouldn't that just be like failing at everything that had ever Goddamn existed and meant a thing in her life?

She had issues with closeness. She didn't like to share. She'd ask people personal questions and not return with anything about herself, just keep asking and asking and hacking and hacking. She was an awful bloody person-

Bobby edged up to the counter beside her, hoping it was in as natural a fashion as possible, and placed the newspaper back on the pile with the others, which was when _she_ noticed him, and it very suddenly occurred to him that they'd met before and she really, really hated him. In fact, though she didn't look it, she was suddenly occupied by the thought that, hang on, he wasn't dead, and how had he managed that, then; he must have been more resourceful than she'd given him credit him for.

For a second, as he looked at her, it didn't even matter that she hated him more than Joy could ever compete with, he just felt very, very sad for her, and he really would have put his arms around her and told her it was going to be all right, if he could have, irregardless of the reality. She was Melody's friend, her best friend, and that was what Mel would have done. Mel had cared for her a great deal; in boarding school, she'd been like a sister to her. But then something had happened, and they'd been separated. Mel had thought her friend dead, and so, as she'd gotten older, she'd come to think of her more as a daughter than a sister, always thinking of her wistfully, always thinking, _If only..._

For a second, he felt entirely too glad to see her, too, too happy to see her; he wasn't Mel, he shouldn't have felt that way, but sometimes their emotions crossed over, between them, and what was Mel's became, for a while, his too. For that second, or maybe it was a few, all he could think was that he really, really loved her, and there was no reason in the world why he shouldn't comfort her when she felt as utterly dejected and her spirits were so low.

Except, of course, for the fact that he wasn't Mel, and this woman hated him. A lot.

She crossed her arms, a scornful expression plastered to her face as much as it was evident in her stance, seeming to shout, _What's taking you, you useless floor wipe?_ "I'll give you a hint," she breathed, when she realised he wasn't making any moves, leaning closer on her heels in a move she obviously didn't feel precarious, even if he did. "Black, two sugars." With a heavy sigh, she added, "Do you think you can manage that, _sugar_?"

It took a second for him to notice the ring she was wearing on her left hand, it meant practically nothing to her other than how _annoying!_ it was, and he nodded casually, favouring her with an appreciative glaces. "I can do that for you, honey," he told her. "It's nice to see you, too. And looking so lively and..." he shook his head, searching for the right word, and offered a smile, "bright!"

She shot him a dull look and began to turn away, arms still crossed, but not before he'd told her, "Right over there, baby," nodding to the table he'd been sitting at earlier.

She dropped an unimpressed, "Sure thing, sugar," and went on her way.

He smacked her on the bottom playfully as she was leaving, really more as an excuse to hopefully glean something more about her visit, than a tactic to convince any nosy persons of the validity of their relationship - Mel had thought her dead, but here she was, as bright and alive as day - and sorely regretted it, almost at once.

As it turned out, she wasn't just Mel's friend, she was also Jarod's sister. She'd been sent by him with the purpose of convincing him to help them help their brother, Mo. All of which might have been fine, yes, okay, had Jarod not been watching everything that happened.

He had a feeling Jarod wasn't going to be as easygoing on him as Emily had been forced to be, merely by the presence of other people and the ever-present facade she was trying very hard to maintain.

Nonetheless, he ordered them both black coffees and returned to the table where Emily was now sitting, waiting for him to get his ass over there; the sooner they got down to business, the sooner they could get the Hell out of this clearly Hicksville-inspired diner, the sooner she could put as much distance between them as possible. Make that, as much Goddamn distance between herself, her loved ones, and any other Tom, Dick or Harry that she might have happened to give two hoots about, in a flight of fancy, and the _raging psychopath_, as possible.

Taking a seat across the table from her - she very obviously _felt_ uncomfortable being around him, even if she didn't look it - he reached over the tabletop to place a hand over hers, looking attentively into her green eyes.

Green was her favourite colour, though she didn't wear it often, and, perhaps, because it was such a polar opposite to pink, she had decided that pink would be her weapon of choice; because, in her mind, she cared very little for it, in reality, and she could safely care for it much more, in a game, without having to worry about giving anything real of herself away. Green and yellow, they were her favourite colours. Green because it was wholesome and dependable, like a hug when you felt blue, and yellow because it was warm and bright and could fill a room so much more than grey or black and it was light, like a sunbeam, not heavy, like green, which anchored her to the ground, to real things and not things she'd dream, or imagine, or wishes.

He smiled. Green was his favourite colour, too. "How have you been, baby?" he asked her, because she was suddenly without anything to say, and she was suddenly in a very yellow mood. If only Eric would come and save her!

"I fucking hate you!" she hissed, in a low, angry voice, through a happy, little smile and glittering eyes. "How have _I_ been, you fucking freak? Shit house! Asshole! Get your filthy hands off me before I smash your skull in with that sugar bloody fucking _thing_!" She was suddenly very short of patience.

He took his hand off hers.

Emily continued her putdown, "He's gotten worse! You recommended that moron, and he's fucking useless! Less than useless! But at least he's not as useless as you! He only sucks at _his job_, you suck at _fucking everything_! You're one fucking, great big failure! I don't know why your parents let you live!"

"I guess it was because, when all was said and done and it _really_ came down to it, they were squeamish," he replied easily. "And, well Hell, maybe they just _liked_ having someone whom they could unload all of their anger at their shitty, fuckin' lives onto! The notion clearly seems to appeal to you, too, Little Miss Regular, Everyday American Citizen. No?"

"Fuck you," she spat, in a whisper. "Are you in, or are you out?"

He gave a sigh. "Do I have a choice? No, wait! What's in it for me, babe? Anythin' nice and warm and... cuddly," he finished.

"Go fuck yourself," she said plainly, dropping the pretence of a smile altogether. "If you don't help, I'll fucking waste you myself!"

"That sounds nice," he replied vaguely, nodding to the waitress who'd served him at the counter, coming over, now, with their coffees. "Thank you, Joy."

Joy was a real fan of his, it appeared to Emily, because she didn't even bother looking at him.

"Ma'am," she said, to Emily, placing both coffees down at the table.

"Thanks," Emily returned.

"Enjoy your drinks now, won't y'all," Joy said, walking away.

"I can't just up and leave," Bobby told her, once Joy was safely out of earshot, "I'll have to work things out at work." He stood up, nodding. "But I'll get back to you. Soon."

"Fuck you," she hissed after him, sipping her coffee gingerly. She grabbed the sugar dispenser and upended an extra two teaspoons into her drink, shaking her head at the lack of a teaspoon, and stood up, walking to the counter and grabbing a straw. She walked back to the table and sat down to stir her coffee for a moment before taking out her phone and dialling Jarod's number.


	10. Chapter 10

Jarod returned his cell phone to his pocket. Emily had just rung him to tell him the news, Lyle was _supposably_ going to try to talk to his boss, after which, yes, he'd be coming back to help them. At which time, Jarod told himself sternly, he would not punch the living daylights out of him.

He remembered how well Emily had taken his comment earlier in the day, whilst they'd been driving.

"_Have you tried contacting Angelo? Maybe he knows of some Healers you don't know about?"_

"_I'm sure he does," Jarod replied, "but none that would be of any use to us. They'd all be Tower lackeys, and I don't want anything to do with the Tower right now. I might just snap all of their stupid, silly, little necks, if I got close enough!"_

She'd fallen silent for the rest of the trip, she'd taken it _that_ well. He wasn't keen on a repeat performance. He wasn't a lunatic, and he sure as shit wasn't Lyle, who seemed to think violence was okay, as long as you actually meant it, no matter if it was without reason or sense.

He watched Emily leave the diner and walk down the street, occasionally glancing into a shop window. When she reached the parked car, she got inside and pulled the door closed after her. "I didn't want to wait in there; I don't know what it is, but this place gives me the creeps. The whole damn place gives me the creeps."

"It won't be forever," Jarod assured her.

She laughed.

.

An hour later, Emily returned to the diner for another coffee and sat down to read a magazine. Half an hour after that, she spotted Lyle's old heap of crap of a car and got a move on out the door. Sure, she didn't mind the car, in essence, she just couldn't stand Lyle's guts, so it was a bit of a problem. Mentally shrugging her concerns off, she supposed she did have a question for him which she would like an answer for, so maybe he wouldn't be totally useless after all.

"Wow, I felt for sure you'd have upgraded this old heap of junk already!" she told him, from the curb, when he got out and came around to open the door for her.

"No. No, this old girl's still running, right as rain."

Emily made a face, shaking her head in aghast. "Don't... don't pet it. People who do that just make my skin crawl. It's not alive. It's a Goddamn car, for Christ sakes! A _machine_! You want something to pamper, hey, what did you marry me for? To show me off to all your... _non-existent_ friends?"

He sighed, "Well, who needs friends? I got you, babe."

She laughed falsely, "Ha-ha," and climbed into the car, rolling her eyes when he shut the door for her, as well. What was with the big show!

"How are you?"

She smiled forcibly. "Shucks, _babe_, you know me! I'm jus' fine. You?"

"Gettin' there."

She bit back a scowl. Weirdo. Creep. Maniac. Who was he tryna impress? His loony buds from the facility?

"I got a question for you, _babe_," she voiced, as they were approaching the outskirts of town. "Do you even Goddamn know where you're driving?"

"Not at all," he replied cheerfully, "but I figure, I'll know when you know! Cos we're a team, babe. Ain't that a fact?"

"Why don't you pop a couple more happy pills, whilst you're at it, and jolly well _fucking kill yourself!_" she ranted. "You'll know when I decide it's time for you to know!"

He nodded. "Well there you go, babe. Was that your only question, or were there more?"

Resisting from grinding her teeth, with difficulty, or throttling him, she smiled painfully and said, "Yes, darling, there was one other question, now that you mention it. Concerning my _dying brother_! If the T's H&E is as good as he or she makes out they are, then how is it that they haven't just popped up on our doorstep and taken care of us in one fell swoop like the vermin he or she obviously sees us as?"

Lyle stared at her strangely, frowning in disconcertion.

She pointed a finger at the windscreen. "The road, darling," she said.

He looked back to the road. "It's not that sort of connection, I'd imagine."

"How nice to know," she chimed falsely.

"I-"

She shot him a scowl. Oh what the fuck now!

"I had a question for you," he finished.

"What?" she asked witheringly.

"I haven't seen you wearing that brooch before. I might, therefore, be tempted to believe that it's a fairly recent acquisition of yours, but it's not new, is it? It's quite old, and, in the light of recent developments, I imagine you'd be wholly justified in your feelings if you'd gone off secondhand purchases, somewhat. Why are you wearing it today?"

"I like it," she replied, annoyed at his sudden nosiness and irritating fucking wording.

"Did you not also like it upon the occasions of our previous meetings?"

"It's personal, you freak!" she snapped, at last. "I didn't think it was any of your business, frankly!"

"You thought that I might ask about it then and conclude that it was a gift from someone that you cared about, and you didn't like the idea of me knowing that you... are a caring person? Or merely that there are people who care for you?"

"Fuck you! And fuck your stupid, lame-ass question!" she scowled, crossing her arms angrily.

"It was just a question," he told her.

"Fuck you!"

.

It was obvious, Bobby concluded, that parts of her past were as much a mystery to her as they were to him. Perhaps, she'd even wanted them that way. Given that it may have been her own choice, he thought it best not to pry. She'd been at boarding school with his sister, they'd left the school, and Mel had moved on. She'd left for a European university and had then gone to work for the same company her father did. Emily, on the other hand, had become a reporter and put the past, or at least part of it, behind her.

Or so she'd thought.

Her decision to pursue journalism was one that brought up more than a few questions, in his opinion. Other than that she genuinely found people interesting, and liked a good mystery as much as the next person; other than wanting to reunite her family, was there more to it, even, than that?

At eleven, Miss Parker had been sent packing to boarding school in Canada. Even back then, Bobby knew it had been a mistake. He knew it hadn't been a good place for someone like her. Oh, he knew alright. It had been a T-Corp training facility, but only for those 'special' enough. He imagined that Emily had been special enough. She'd been friends with his sister, after all, who had been one of their favourites. A Pretender with ISP. They'd been over-the-moon about her. But what could have, conceivably, made it even better was if she'd been allowed her own Mediator.

And that's what Emily was.

The question was, why would she want to forget something like that, something that could end up coming back to haunt her, later on? Wouldn't it have been wiser to remain aware, than to block the memories completely as though nothing had ever happened?

He couldn't think what that had been about.

Of course, perhaps the answer was quite simple, and perhaps Lyle knew it already. It wasn't as though he was going to tell him - he was still mad at him - and he certainly wasn't going to get anything off Emily, either. Whatever it was, she'd hidden it that deeply in her subconscious, and that thoroughly, that he doubted she'd even be able to recall it even if she wanted to.

At least it was quiet now; Emily was reading a romance novel, by the looks of it. It gave him time to think. Would the information Emily was hiding be a potential threat to her or her family? Did it warrant further investigation, or would it be fine if he just let it go, for the time being?

The problem was, he didn't know much about T-Corp. He knew that Mel and Emily had somehow been able to escape, and that Mel had then gone overseas and Emily had presumably met up with family and continued her education, but how they'd been able to escape and what had transpired before that was a mystery to him. They'd been training the girls, but what missions they'd been assigned to, if at all, he had no idea of whatsoever.

Oh.

Oh.

Yes, that would have been a problem.

Tracking and identification devices, of course. Even if they'd somehow managed to escape, who was to say they would not be pursued? Mel had had an easier way out of that than Emily. The Centre. By affiliating herself with them by taking on one of their training programs, it meant T-Corp could no longer touch her. But what about Emily? What if, one day, T-Corp caught up with her and recognised her and just decided to take her back?

So they must have found some way to disable any means of ID, which, in the case of T-Corp, would have meant disabling a biomechanical component. T-Corp had gone biomech in a big way in the mid to late sixties, after Noah's success with the biomech program and subsequent 'rescue'.

And who better to have one your side for such a task than Noah. Whilst that hadn't been possible, there had been a second option. And if it had involved Mel, as it had, he hardly doubted that he'd have needed any convincing at all.

It had obviously been Lyle.

He'd taken care of the biomech problem and they'd taken care of the escaping problem. And obviously, after that, Emily had decided to pursue a more 'normal' life; maybe, thinking herself safe, at last, from T-Corp, she'd even decided to put the past and its traumas behind her and start a new life for herself with a new purpose: to reunite what was left of her family. She had been, after all, just a girl. No more than thirteen, when they'd escaped. This, he knew from the little he knew of Mel's history. Mel had been 22, and Emily, nine years her junior, would have been thirteen, or close to. To face life carrying that around would surely have terrified her. It wasn't such a hard buy to believe she'd wanted to forget it, even if it had meant forgetting her friend, too.

Or perhaps she'd very cleverly only chosen to forget parts of her past, and not all of it. Perhaps she'd kept the 'normal' parts, as a means to placate herself that nothing had been wrong at all. No discernable gaps existed in her memory; she still remembered her early high school years, everything had been rosy. Aside from the menacing and ever-present threat of the Centre, of course. Nothing out of the ordinary.

And, of course, she'd known the Centre, who did not believe in Mediators, wouldn't even have been interested in her, anyway. The second they discovered she was what they termed a Recessive, they'd drop her like a hot potato. The worst they'd ever even contemplate was killing her. She was a smart girl, and she'd take classes. Likely she'd see them before they even saw her. If worst came to worst, she'd kick their butts into next year.

She would do fine, in her new life.

Versus remembering everything and running the risk of losing her mind and possibly even ending up harming herself or those she cared for the most, it wasn't hard to see the direction a traumatised thirteen-year-old girl would lean towards.

If he hadn't had Mel, Bobby wasn't so sure he wouldn't have chosen differently. As it was, he'd may as well have abandoned Mel, in the end, anyway. He hadn't given her back her brother, Theodore; instead, he'd got lost and left her with Lyle, the crazy boy.

Sure, they were the same person, in a way, but he'd still been a Goddamn selfish prick to do it. There was no excuse for it. None whatsoever. Even if there was a logical reason, it was bullshit, in Bobby's opinion. He'd just been a little baby, and he'd had enough. In summary, he hadn't had the guts to stick around. He was an asshole. Mel didn't even deserve someone like him for a brother. She deserved a real Goddamn brother, not a loser!

_Stop it_, he told himself sternly. _Stop putting yourself down. There was nothing you could have done. What happened, happened. It was the past. You did what you had to do to survive. That isn't a crime. Not _that_. Granted, there was a lot of things you did wrong, too, but that's all fine to say, in hindsight. Put that aside, right now. Stay on mission._

When he looked her way, Emily was still reading her novel.

"Left, right, keep going straight ahead? A little direction wouldn't go astray, you know," he told her.

She glanced up from her book absently, then back down again. "As you are," she replied plainly.

It made more sense that it would have been the Mediator that Lyle would have had contact with, rather than the ISP, but if they'd ever worked together in the past, Bobby was having a hard time seeing it. Of course, she'd have forgotten that, too; it would have had to go, along with the rest of it. "You must have been popular with your classmates, back in the day," he commented.

"Oh sure, I was a real hit!" she replied, turning a page on her book. "I had friends by the dozen; twenty, thirty, I dunno, maybe more."

"I don't doubt you."

She rolled her eyes. "Take a hike, loser. I had a couple of friends, not many, but a couple, and they were good friends. _Dependable_ friends! Who did you have? Jimmy. Jimmy the loser. And, let's face it, the only reason you played nice with him was because he made _you_ look _so much better_!"

"Well, you just saw right through _me_, didn't you."

She rolled her eyes. _Oh ha-ha. Not. Loser._

.

At the motel she'd directed they stop at, he frowned and turned to her suddenly, in front of their room. "Why don't you like me?"

She dropped a shoulder, on the verge of hysterical laughter. "Oh, why!" she mock lamented. "Maybe it's because you tried to kill me. Let me amend, you fully intended on killing me! And you killed my brother. And you were mean to my other brother, and that's putting it lightly. And you're a liar. And you kill innocent young women. Girls. I'm sorry. And you're a cannibalistic freak. And I hate you!"

"Kyle is- Well, okay. I'll admit, that was... that was all my doing. I needn't have... It was a stupid move. And I do have a habit of bending the truth, at times. But the rest-"

"You _threw_ me out of a window!" she scowled at top volume.

"That's right. I did, didn't I! Dear me. I must be getting old; my memory's not what it used to be."

"You _eat_ Asian women!"

Before he could respond to that, the motel door opened swiftly from inside and Jarod whispered, "Keep your voice down!"

Emily threw him a dirty glare and marched inside.

Silently, Bobby followed her inside.

.

"Is there a reason we've stopped here?" he asked. "It's quite early, still. If the kid's really that sick-"

Emily spun back around, in full prima donna mode. "We don't trust you, freak!"

"Mmm." He glanced at Jarod. "You want me to help, you don't want me to help, what? What's the thinking here, guys?"

"It's simple," Jarod replied simply. "It's as Emily said. We don't trust you."

"Ah, I'm over you guys. You're a whole lotta trouble for a whole lotta nothin'. I am officially over you and your whole pesky little fuckin' family, Wonder Boy! Do I have to spell it out for you? Huh? O-V-E-R. Over!"

Jarod shrugged. "Like I said, I don't trust you."

He made a face. "Like I could give a damn! Do whatever you've gotta do, then can we kindly fuckin' make tracks! I _like_ having a job. More than that, even, I like being Goddamn _alive_! Fuck this up for me and I could find myself reconsiderin'-"

"Don't you mean, 'Fuck this up for me and I'll be fuckin' _dead_!'" Jarod spat.

He scowled. "Well, there's that."

"There is, isn't there," Jarod agreed, in all pleasantry.

"Ha-ha," Lyle scowled, glaring at him.

"You should be more pleasant to us; don't forget your manners. We could really make your life Hell."

"Oh, you mean more than it is now!" Lyle laughed. "I don't think so, genius. You're just like Sydney. All you do is _talk_," he cooed.

"Are you forgetting something?" Emily butted in, crossing her arms.

He glared at her.

"SL-27?" Emily reminded him.

"Who even asked you, bitch?" he scowled, and shot Jarod an angry look, nodding in Emily's direction. "I'm really starting to get sick of her. I don't know how you stand her, to be hon-"

A swift backhander from Jarod shut him up. For a couple of seconds, at least.

Emily shook her head, stepping away from the false tooth that had hit the floor and skidded over to her. "Oh, aren't you brave," she commented. "All it took was one look at that plier and you were _spilling your guts_! And you _wonder_ why we don't _trust you_!" She kicked it across the room, grinning. "Fetch!"

"Oh, but you didn't forget _that_!" he whispered, turning and walking away to collect the tooth.

Emily stopped smiling. "I don't know why they keep you around!" she yelled after him, a few moments later. "I don't know why they don't just _kill you where you stand, freak_! It must be because they're _so fucking stupid_!"

"Emily," Jarod said finally.

She threw him another dirty glare, but shut up.

"I might be able to help Gemini, but I'm not gonna make any promises," Lyle told Jarod, entirely ignoring Emily. "First off, Space Boy's your Healer bud. You got issues with that, you take it up with him. He might know of some other freelance Healers, he might not. That ain't my business. Secondly, this Tower Empath, I'm bettin' he or she's a Class Seven; Six, at the least. I'm a Five. I don't work miracles. What happens, happens; what don't, don't. Thirdly, sic your attack dog on someone else, for a change. I'm sick o' the bitch! Any questions, folks?"

"Fuck you!" Emily spat.

He tilted his head. "No?"

She grinned. "Do I get to smack you, too? That kinda shit's fun for you, i'n't it?"

He glanced at her suddenly. "Sure, hon, go right ahead. You wanna smack me, be my guest. But don't expect me not to smack you back!"

She smiled a bit more. "Did you forget something? Sweetie? You owe me. Back in that shitheap of a diner! Is this ringin' any bells?"

"Vampire," he muttered, and walked off.

"Freak!" she hissed after him, making a face at her brother. "Don't tell me you don't know any other Empaths!" she scowled, in a real shitty mood.

"None who could've done this, no," he replied calmly.

"Bullshit!" she spat.

He sighed and walked after Lyle. In the bathroom, he asked, "What happened to your tooth?"

"It decided it wanted to take a vacation! Without me! What do you think?" Lyle snapped. "If you've come to apologise, or you haven't, don't bother! I suggest you keep your sister away from me, from now on. I don't like the way things are goin', between us. I can see she's a good girl, deep down inside. We wouldn't want a little thing like dying to stifle her potential. That would be a real shame."

He turned to look at Jarod. "BTW, how's she gettin' along with our boy, E.T.? Seemed to me, they'd make a real cute couple."

"I wouldn't know," Jarod replied passively.

"You keep your eye on them, now; you'll see what I'm talkin' about."

"Shut up!" Jarod replied. "Why are you helping us? Or should I say: Why are you pretending to help us?"

"Maybe I'm making a play for Mirage. Hopin' he'll trust me just a _little bit more_, if I do this one, tiny thing for creepy Clone Boy, his precious little brother! Personally, eww! Shit, but what do you think?"

"I think we can't trust you," Jarod said.

"Gettin' a bit old, I gotta say. Check, they don't trust me. Shit, not how I planned it turnin' out, at this stage, but there's time to rectify. The girl's lookin' to get even somehow, so I gotta watch her 'round high windows. Check. She's kinda cute though, so I gotta watch myself 'round her 'round high windows! Check. Did I forget somethin', genius?"

Jarod leaned closer. "Your pills."

"Fuck, no, you're right! When you're right, you're right." Lyle shook his head. "Damn. I left them at the teamhouse. My bad!" He frowned. "Just keep her away from me, and I'll stay away from her. Easy as pie." He winked at him and walked out.

Jarod scowled. If he'd had a choice, he'd damn well have chosen someone else, anyone else, over that lunatic! How Emily could think otherwise pissed him off. She was being deliberately shitty, not to mention naive, and that pissed him off even more.

Unless it was her way of blaming him for what had happened to Mo, and that really pissed him off. He kicked himself enough for it every single fucking day; he didn't need her joining in, too!

.

"You do not."

"Shut up! I do!"

"Put that away. You use butter. That's disgusting."

"You put it away! And quit cramping my style!"

He laughed. "What style? Oh, you're talkin' about your oversized ego? Yeah, it is kinda cramped in here, now that you mention it. You might wanna get that seen to; surgically."

"D'you wanna be wearing this? Huh? Huh? Yeah, you step back!"

"Ppp! You think you're so funny."

"I am funny, freak! I'm Comedy Fuckin' Gold! You're the one who's so funny, it's _not_ funny! The Grim Reaper's stuffed road kill's _funnier_!"

"Just put that away before it melts into... icky ick."

"Oh! Oh this!"

Making a face at the loud thump, Jarod pushed open the motel room door and walked into the room.

Emily smiled at him nicely, from the kitchenette area and hid the margarine container behind her back. "I was just making pancakes!" she chimed brightly, stepping away from Lyle quickly, who was backed against the wall.

"_Attempting_ to make," Lyle lagged her in.

She widened her eyes. "What? Did you hear someone say something?" She glanced at Jarod. "Not me. I didn't say anything. You?" She whipped around and glared at Lyle. "Margarine hater!"

"Personal space invader!"

"You're the invader, not me!" she scowled darkly and walked away, grabbing the fridge door and pulling it open. "We don't have butter, moron!"

"Do you have flour? Or milk? Or-"

"You suck! Shut up!"

"Nice. Nice way to behave. Great stuff."

Jarod shook his head. "Perhaps we should buy some butter," he said to Lyle.

Lyle tossed his head in Emily's direction. "You, stay here. Paint your nails or something. Stay away from the stove. It's dangerous for children."

She rolled her eyes. "I can too make pancakes! You'll see, Hick Boy. We'll see who'll be laughing then!" She laughed in an exaggeratedly sinister fashion.

"Later... girly girl girl!" Lyle said, and grinned.

Jarod shot him a disturbed look, outside. "Why are you playing along with her antics?"

"She started it," Lyle replied, looking for the car. "I was bored. The TV aerial's not adjusted right. She's so funny. She makes such a fool of herself. And it's so easy to wind her up! She's like a little p-" He adjusted his expression to a more serious one. "I'm over it."

With a last disturbed glance, Jarod headed for the car. The guy was 51, he could quit acting like he was twelve for a couple of hours, at least. Personally, Jarod didn't care how he acted on his own time (mostly didn't care), but if it involved Emily, then he damn well cared. Just because she didn't have many "friends" didn't mean it was okay for Lyle to annoy her like that. Maybe it didn't matter to him whether people liked him or not, but Emily was different. She actually cared about what people thought about her and she'd really have liked a friend. Particularly now, when Mo was as sick as he was!

Jarod suppressed a frustrated sigh. He really shouldn't have had to be the one telling Lyle this shit; he was old enough to figure that out himself. Just because it was "fun" to wind Emily up didn't mean it was "okay". Jarod was starting to lose his patience. He knew the guy was cracked but how more loony could he get? Was it all just one big ploy to send Em up, because he really wasn't seeing what all those Asian women had seen in the guy.

More than likely, though, he thought, it was a ploy to piss _him_ off!

.

After they'd got in some shopping, Jarod decided to step in to defuse any future arguments by volunteering to help Emily with making the pancakes, and she'd leapt at the opportunity with a big smile. Jarod was her brother; it wasn't cheating, it was pooling resources, _teamwork_! It wasn't her fault Lyle was such a jerk and a loser no-one wanted to be on his team!

Jarod pretended not to see all of Emily's little glares in Lyle's direction, and even put up with the radio being on, tuned to an overseas station that broadcast in French. He hadn't known Emily spoke French, but apparently she understood what was being said; he took it was a good thing, he'd learned something new about her, it didn't happen often.

When he'd first got to know her, he'd thought nothing in the world could distract her or sway her. He'd obviously been wrong. The instant she got within six feet of Lyle, she started acting just as petty as he did. And perhaps that was exactly what it was; she was just particularly susceptible to Empathic license. No way in Hell would he put something like that past Lyle. If he'd been attempting the same trick with him, though, it hadn't worked. He supposed it was because he was a trained Pretender and Emily was not.

On the subject of which, he thought, as he watched Emily making a face at Lyle, if not a Pretender, then what was she? When he'd looked for the anomaly in her blood, he'd found it. She obviously possessed the gene, and as he didn't believe in the Centre's standard theory of Recessives, that would mean that Emily had to be a Dominant. She had to be something.

He liked to think she was a Pretender, but that she'd just not been trained. It was what made the most sense. Her recent behaviour, however, pointed at something else. He really hope like heck that she wasn't an Empath. If it did turn out that way, he had a sinking feeling that it would also turn out that she was much less than a Class Five.

"Are you sure the consistency's right?" Emily asked, frowning at the pancake mixture in distaste.

"I'm sure," he replied. "Didn't Mom ever..." He fell short.

Emily shook her head slowly. "Nada, my friend. I don't think she liked the idea of encouraging my sweet tooth."

"You have a sweet tooth?" Jarod asked. Usually, he'd see her eating dried or fresh fruit or nuts or salad or sandwiches, lots of sandwiches. And biscuits, he remembered quickly. Yeah, there was the biscuits, too. That was probably the sweet tooth she was talking about.

"Dad can make pancakes," Emily went on. "I think he's more of a morning person than Mom. She's practically got zero patience, at morning-time. Come on, tell me you've noticed that, too!"

"Hmmm..." he agreed vaguely.

Emily blinked and tossed her head. "You know what she told me once? It's not worth the bother when I'm just gonna go out _flouncing around_ pretending to 'jog' and leave all the cooking and cleaning up and whatnot to her."

"Flouncing around?"

"Yes. Apparently I don't run, I," she did a boyish voice, _"flounce around_!" She snorted. "Granted, she was kinda pissed off about stuff, in general. Dad, not showing up when he'd promised. You know."

"Valentine's Day, mate," she told him firmly. "Do not mess with the V Day!"

"I didn't know Mom was into all of that?"

"Pff! Dad's got loads goin' for him, even as an older guy. Even you've gotta admit that! He's our dad, don't be a traitor!"

He nodded. "You're right. Loads going for him."

Emily nodded in agreement, her eyes narrowed. "And why shouldn't he! He's a nice guy. Mom's lucky to have met him, in reality. She mighta shacked up with some creep like that Parker guy, had she not met Dad."

"Ah..." Jarod tried not to gag. That was a thought he didn't need permanently seared into his imagination.

Emily sighed. "So what do you think of Eric?"

Lyle laughed, from over by the sink.

Emily curled her hands into fists, refusing to respond even to spin around and hurl some insult at him.

"He seems like a... ah, a good guy," Jarod told her, sighing. "Emily, but really, he's... He's a Healer. You don't- No, before you go jumping down my throat about it, just hear me out, okay. He's a nice guy, a good guy, really. I think I know him pretty well, by now. But he's not someone you want to involve yourself with... on that level. You're going to want kids one day, a family, right, and you don't want them... you don't want them having this shit we've had to battle with our whole lives! This Goddamn anomaly! Think about it, Em. Nothing against the guy, but he's just not husband material. Not for you."

Emily scowled, crossing her arms, and walked off. "Make the stupid pancakes yourself, if you think you're so clever! Mr. I Always Know Best - _No Matter What_!" Across the room, she plonked herself down at the couch and switched on the TV, then growled and switched it back off.

"That went well," Lyle commented, from the sink, where he was cutting up apples he'd already peeled.

"You stay out of it!" Jarod snapped darkly.

"Oh, come on," Lyle came back. "It's the truth. She knows that. Didn't I tell you there was something there?" He shook his head.

"What are you doing?" Jarod asked, frowning heavily.

"It's for the pancakes."

"Apples?"

"They're pears, not apples."

Shooting him a short glare, As if he hadn't known _that_!, Jarod shook his head and nodded to the table not far away. "Why? I got maple syrup."

"I dunno. It's healthy. I'm sure you can just as easily have maple syrup with it, too."

Jarod made a face.

"Wakey-wakey, Wonder Boy. This is the real world, not McLand. People can't just survive on pancakes and maple syrup."

"I'm not going to-"

"Shut! Up! Gawd!" Emily yelled from across the room, her fists clenched at her sides. She shook her head angrily. "I'm going out! For a walk! Alone! Even think of following me, and I'll push you under a car!" She stormed out, slamming the door after her.

"Don't look at me," Lyle replied. "I gotta say, I wholly bought the kid's little rant. I don't wanna end up road kill. Do you? Let her go. Give her some time alone to her thoughts. She'll come back, sooner or later. She's gotta sleep somewhere, after all."

.

Emily came back, an hour later, and seated herself down heavily in a chair at the table, crossing her arms. "Where's my dinner?" she grumbled crossly.

Jarod had already commandeered the room's single bed - Emily was just going to have to take the double - and was immersed in the pages of a medical journal. He didn't look up from the page he was reading.

Switching the radio off, Lyle stood up and got Emily's dinner from out of the microwave where Jarod had put it. "Your Highness," he replied, placing her plate down at the table.

"Your Highness, ma'am!" she snapped. "And what is that?"

"Cram it and eat it, you little girl!" he snapped back, and went to pour her a mug of coffee that hadn't gone completely cold yet.

She poked her tongue out at him and grabbed the maple syrup.

"Are you trying to kill yourself with that stuff?" he asked, slightly annoyed. "It's sweet enough."

"Quit staring at me with those homicidal maniac eyes!" she scowled. "_You're putting me off my food!_"

"You're putting me off breathing," he muttered.

"Oh, really!" she snapped, with big eyes. "Then why don't you fucking drop dead, loser!"

"Sorry, can't do. Would hate to give you the satisfaction, darl. Sadly."

"Buzz off! And leave that Goddamn radio off! I'm not listening to no classical crap!"

"It's calming."

"What would be calming would be if you'd _shut up_!" she shouted.

He shook his head and walked away, to the door. Obviously, he wasn't helping matters by hanging around, so he'd just be in the car, listening to the radio _on his own_.

Emily threw a glare after him and picked up the fork Lyle had left on the table for her, poking at her food distastefully.

"It's not going to poison you," Jarod told her, from his corner of the room. "I ate it and I'm still here. Just eat it."

"I hate cold shit!" she scowled to the tabletop, refusing to look at Jarod.

"You know how to use the microwave," he told her.

She showed him her finger. Why was he siding with the loserpath suddenly! It made her want to puke!

.

When Lyle came back in for a glass of water, Jarod sighed and closed the journal he'd been reading. Emily was already asleep, or at least pretending to be, and he should have made sure he'd locked the door, rightly. To Lyle, he said, "There's a sofa for a reason. It'll be cold in the car tonight. You might as well stay here with us."

"And you'd really feel safe then, wouldn't you?" Lyle replied darkly.

"Well I won't feel any safer with you out there, where I can't see what you're up to," Jarod told him.

Lyle rolled his eyes and got a clean glass out of the cupboard and filled it with water. He took it to the bedside stand by Emily's bed and placed it down there before walking back to the door and locking it.

"In the interest of avoiding any unwanted police attention, I suppose I could put up with it for one night. People get real iffy about folk sleepin' in cars on private property. That, or else they're just plain paranoid."

"When it come to you, I don't one can be too paranoid," Jarod replied, shrugging.

"I expect you're right," Lyle said, getting up to switch the television off and not just leave it on standby, leaving the remote on top of the screen. "You gotta love standby, don't ya. It's gets real annoying. Kinda like your sister. But I guess that's just me. Ain't too good with people once they've seen through all the lies and realise, shit, I'm just another lunatic. Who ain't. That's nothin' new. Everybody's lookin' for somethin'- somethin' that ain't there, these days, it seems. The second they realise the rest of us don't exist solely for them, they got real hard-done-by, you know. I guess I'm the same. What am I rattlin' on about. I'm just the same. Don't that get old? Always thinkin', shit, if I could just have it the way I want it, just once! It ain't gonna work, no matter what you do, if you're livin' in your own little world believin' everythin's just about you and only ever will be about you."

He sighed. "I guess the trick is you gotta play the game, you don't get ta run the game. And we're all in the game together. That's the trick. It ain't nothin' but what it is; ain't fair or unfair, just how it goes. I need ta stop runnin' my mouth cos we've got somewhere ta be, as I recall, so that's it from me, folks." He cast a glance in Emily's direction. "I sure hope she is asleep. I don't trust that one for a second."

He sighed again and went to turn out the main lights.

.

Somewhere between sleeping and waking, trapped in that strange frame, the world became terrifying and foreign, at moments distant, at moments right up in his face. He could have been anyone, he could have been no-one, but the heart that beat within his chest, was _his_ heart.

At first, nothing could disturb him from that strange, unpredictable, unknowable world; not the small sound of movement, nor the tired sigh.

It was the whisper that finally drew him back.

"Emily, sweetheart, are you awake?"

Remaining very still, he snapped open his eyes. It was okay; he was okay. He was back in the motel room, still in the motel room. Just the motel room. Emily, his little sister - his baby sister - was close by. His heart beat madly, the reason whisked away into the dark when he'd finally roused and risen from that scary place, leaving behind that feeling. That scary, terrible feeling that sometimes made him cringe at the very thought of sleep, no matter how beat he got. Fact of it, the more tired he was, the worse the paranoia, the worse the bad feeling sometimes got. Oh, he got so fucking scared, sometimes.

As a teenager, well, it had been different then. He'd always slept better then. He knew it was crazy, but he was sure it had been Miss Parker, sure it had been their connection that had got him through, back then. Somehow, she'd been able to feel his turmoil and she'd made it better, soothed it, smoothed everything back into place, as it should have been. Crazy, but he believed it with everything in him.

How he missed that strange, sad girl, at times.

Across the room, his little sister's quiet voice whispered back, "You really love the sound of your own voice, don't you." A quip lacking the proper execution, clumsy, too quiet.

He wanted to smile, heart pounding, a little crazy. _Little sister._ He smiled inside.

He hated that crazy feeling, that feeling of not knowing why or what, of lacking control. Shit, it was _his_ body!

"I'm sorry, I do. You're right. Quite right. Do you ever just... need the distraction. When everything seems so overwhelming and you have this feeling, this feeling like there's only one course of action, but it's one you don't want to take, so you just... Try to find something to grab onto." He laughed quietly. "Did I wake you?"

Emily sat up, frowning at him through the gloomy nighttime light, the tiny LED light of the fire alarm, suddenly a large, dim spotlight on the old carpet, the microwave display, lights from outside.

Lyle sat at the edge of the mattress.

"Hell yeah! I blame you," Emily said, perfectly serious. It was hard to make out her expression through the darkness, but she might have been smiling softly. She may have as easily not been.

"Are you angry?"

"Can't you tell?" she returned challengingly.

"What, with my..."

"With your," she finished.

"That doesn't strike you as rude, nosy?"

She rolled her eyes, laughing softly. She leant over, closer to him. "You got the license. Why not go for the test drive, too? Prove you're for real, maybe you can help my brother. I don't believe you. I think you're so full of shit. Convince me. Hit me! Work that vampire charm, boy!"

He smiled and got to his feet, holding out his hands.

She placed her hands in his and slipped out of bed.

He stepped closer, to whisper in her ear playfully. "You asked for it."

She let out a sigh, rolled her eyes. Terrifying.

He planted a kiss to the side of her head, over her soft, messy hair. A moment or two later, still holding her hands, he stepped back to put some distance between them.

Jarod tensed, sure that something had changed, without ever setting eyes on it, something had passed between them. It was what Emily had asked for, but she'd had no idea what she'd been asking, in truth.

Underneath that spotlight from the little light in the fire alarm, a smile brightened Emily's face, eyes and all.

Though he couldn't hear anything but the low hum of the refrigerator and the occasional passing of traffic on the road not far off, it was clear Emily was hearing something very different, something a little more musical.

_Empath glamour_, Jarod thought. The power to manipulate another person's senses, make them think something was happening that wasn't. What happened next wasn't Empath glamour. It was Empathic sharing of a very advanced form.

He'd heard Emily sing along to a song she'd heard before, or pat her hand on her leg in time to the melody, he'd even seen her sway to something, but he'd never seen her dance the way she danced tonight; a little bit 50s, a little bit jive, a little bit waltz, all of it breathtaking.

Emotions bubbled up in his chest, tightening it. Fright, anger, awe. That sort of Empathic sharing always, never didn't hold an edge of danger, but for a Class Five to attempt such a thing with an ordinary, non-Empath was plain crazy, plain asking for trouble! The ease with which Lyle had been able to pass along his little sideshow trick infuriated Jarod. Emily wasn't that easy! She wasn't a stupid woman! How dare Lyle risk her physical safety in such a way, for such a hollowly selfish reason? How dare he use her that way!

Then to throw it back in her face by pretending to be her friend, was all the more disgusting!

"Who did you dance to this song with, before me?" Emily asked.

Lyle smiled, but offered no reply.

She smiled. "It's not really real, is it?"

He sighed, stepping away from her. "My parents danced to it," he said quietly.

She snapped her fingers, already miles away, clicking along to a song replaying itself from her memory. She grinned and spun on the spot, busting into an impromptu dance routine. Her eyes lit up. "I can really dance!"

He looked at the floor, putting a hand to his head. "You could always really dance," he offered.

Emily laughed brightly. "This is awesome! Eric will be so surprised!"

"I'm sure he will," Lyle remarked, smiling vaguely at the carpet. He sighed and looked up. "It's late, darlin'."

Emily beamed, her eyes glazy and fixed to a spot somewhere between them, focussed somewhere far away, in imaginary land. She gave a happy puff. "'Night," she chimed, springing away. She dropped down onto the bed.

"Emily?"

"Yo!"

Gingerly, Lyle continued, "The couch isn't very comfortable. Would you mind if I slept with you?"

She laughed at the ceiling. "Oh no, you just wanna cop a feel!"

"You feel... calm," he admitted quietly.

"Calm?"

"It helps."

"You're so full of shit," she said suddenly.

He smiled. "Yeah. I suppose that's a _no_..."

She growled in frustration and sat up. She patted the mattress beside her. "No touchy-feely crap or you're out!"

Gritting his teeth, Jarod closed his eyes, suddenly full of hot, angry tears. The lunatic thought he was _so good_, thought he could ruin everything, but he wasn't having Em, too! Once he'd cut the cord on his evil little pal's connection with Mo, Jarod would put him out of business. Permanently.

.

Blinking in the bright morning light, Jarod opened his eyes. In the bathroom, the shower was running. Emily had obviously been out running already and come back. Breakfast was already made, porridge and leftover fruit. Bacon and eggs, a freshly made salad. Coffee. Cupcakes?

At the table, Lyle was sitting there looking depressed, holding a hand to his head like maybe it had started hurting, but just a little. "Eat something," he said suddenly. For a second, Jarod thought he'd been talking to him, but a second later he realised he'd been talking to himself.

He stood up and poured himself a glass of water, standing at the sink to drink it.

He actually did look kinda pale, in Jarod's opinion. He got out of bed hurriedly and shot out of the room. "Emily!" he called loudly, from outside the bathroom door. If Lyle wasn't feeling well, it could have been because of negative feedback. He had to know that Emily was okay.

"You better get hungry," she called back. "Weirdo misses Hicksville and _the good old days._"

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, well, I'm talking to you, aren't I?"

He sighed, walking back to the kitchen area. "What's with all the food?" he asked Lyle.

"Aren't you hungry?"

"Are you going to answer my question, or aren't you?"

"It makes me feel better."

"It makes you feel better!" Jarod replied sceptically. "What kind of a crappy copout is that?"

"The truth," Lyle said.

Jarod glanced around the place, noticing how orderly it all was, all of a sudden. Sure, it was a motel room, there wasn't much in it, but what was in it was neat, everything in its proper place. "Head case," he muttered.

"I can't think when everything's everywhere," Lyle said. "It just keeps distracting me. Don't you ever... just... want things to be... orderly; when you... look at everything and it's messy, you just feel... like you couldn't be bothered? I don't wanna feel like that. I wanna feel... motivated. I want to do something. Do nothing isn't... that isn't living! And it just gets worse, if you don't get up and do something, if you allow yourself to buy into it. That's it, you're done. Show's all over."

He sighed. "I get it. You're a Pretender. You can be very focussed, at times. That's partly what you were trained for. I'm not like you. When I'm not feeling so hot, like I am now, I will... I'll look for the slightest excuse and blow it out of all proportion, if I have to, because I don't... I don't want to! I don't want to!"

He shook his head. "But that isn't... That's not on! I'm not a kid, and I'm not an idiot. It isn't... fun. Or even healthy. Mentally or physically."

"If you haven't already," Jarod interrupted, "maybe now's the time to take your meds."

"Give it a rest with the pill-popping propaganda! You're just... you're just supporting the idiots that allow us to think, shit, our health's out of our hands; that's the doctor and the man in the white coat's domain, what would I know? That's sick. Don't... don't talk to me about that shit. It's frankly fucking depressing. It's bad enough that we feel disconnected the way we do, from our bodies and our own Goddamn decision-making shit, but... but... Don't go along with that. You're gonna ruin yourself if you buy into all that..." He stood up, scratching his wrist incessantly. "I'm going for a walk!"

Jarod shrugged. Like he could care less! He went to the counter and got a mug down to pour himself a coffee. By the time he'd turned back around, Lyle had left already. If the Tower had got him off his meds, that really said a lot for how much he meant to them. He'd been on some special Tower meds, after all. It looked like he'd outlived his usefulness, in the company's eyes. In honesty, it had been a long time coming, Jarod thought.

"Where's Farm Boy?" Emily asked, when she got out of the shower.

Jarod nodded at her, indicating the towel she was wearing. "You really think it's such a crash hot idea to parade around in front of a cuckoo like him dressed like that?" he put it to her. God, think!

She shrugged. "Man, you can be such a prude sometimes. I'm wearing a towel! It's not like I'm in my altogether!"

"You're not far off it, either," he replied.

"There's nothing wrong with naked people," she told him firmly, annoyed at his attitude.

"There is if you're a homicidal lunatic!" Jarod snapped, starting to get annoyed with her, too.

"Oh, wow, would you look at that!" She glanced around the room pointedly. "Not a single homicidal lunatic in sight! What _are_ the odds!" She strode to the cupboard and pulled open the door dramatically. "Nope! None in here, either!"

"Get dressed," Jarod told her, shaking his head.

"No, I was planning on wearing this for the rest of the day!" she snapped narkily. She snatched her duffel bag from the end of her bed roughly and hit the bathroom, slamming the door loudly after her.

Jarod scowled and went to get something to eat, setting his coffee down at the table.

.

"You're arguing now?" Lyle said, coming back in and closing the door. "Where's the _we stick together_ in _family_, hey!" He leaned back against the door, looking ill.

"What the Hell kind of fucked up drugs are you on, man?" Jarod snapped angrily.

Lyle shook his head.

Emily emerged from the bathroom in a light grey tracksuit with accompanying purple stripes and headed for the radio, switching it on and turning it up loud. Tossing her head about, red hair slapping her face, she bounced around the room in full bratty teen _I hate you and I'll do what I want!_ mode.

"Emily," Jarod interrupted sternly, over the racket. Katy Perry was singing about not wanting to be "one of the boys" anymore. "Emily!"

She ignored him, singing along to the song at the top of her voice.

At the door, Lyle put his hands over his ears and sunk to the floor.

Jarod walked to the door.

Lyle shot to his feet and pulled the plug on the radio.

Emily shot him a dark look.

"Try again!" he snapped, and walked out, leaving the door open.

"Get your stuff!" Jarod told her. "We're making tracks."

She poked her tongue out at him.

.

In the car, Emily stuck a CD in the stereo system and skipped to track ten, _Summer Sunshine_. She rested her head against the glass of the side window and watched the side of the road.

Jarod said nothing, though he had plenty of stuff running around he could think of. If she hadn't been playing some stupid little game with them both, and playing along with the crazy's game, they'd all be better off. But she couldn't help herself. She couldn't help but bait the loony! She was playing a little revenge trip and he was playing plain loony! Jarod didn't know how much longer he could put up with it.

He told himself it would be over soon.

At the end of the song, Emily took out her cell phone and rung Eric. Did he have any plans for dinner?


	11. Chapter 11

It was after lunch by the time they reached where they were headed; three p.m. plus. Margaret came out to meet them and crossed her arms, directing a dark glare in the direction of the older vehicle that came up and parked nearby to the one Jarod had been getting around in of late.

Emily kicked open the car door and got out, rubbing her wrists and checking if her arms still worked as per the instruction manual. She walked up to Margaret and slipped by her. The older woman caught Jarod's eye.

He sighed and joined her at the front of the house, a fairly nondescript number in a fairly regular suburb. They'd been hanging around for too long on account of Mo's illness. "I know you were opposed to the idea, Mom," he began.

Lyle joined them by the steps. "You look nice today," he told Margaret.

She scowled silently.

"How are you?" he tried again.

Without altering her expression, she turned on her heel and headed inside, letting the security door fall shut loudly behind her.

"Just, shut up," Jarod told him. "No smart comments out of you."

"Sure, Dad," he replied, obviously sarcastically, though his tone was rather plain, which was perhaps the pointer. "You want fries with that?"

Ignoring the jibe, Jarod grabbed the door and walked inside.

.

When they got there, Emily had already beat them and was sitting on the bed beside Mo, a Harry Potter novel she was reading from - the first, she always said it was the best - sprawled across her lap. When they came in, she ignored them and went on reading.

Lyle stopped in the doorway and stood there, breathing hard, as though he'd run some distance, though he hadn't.

When he noticed, Jarod turned and shot him an annoyed frown.

Lyle put a hand out to say, _Give it a moment_, and stood a moment longer by the door, before venturing into the room and across to the bed.

Charles scowled, from the window. "There's no way he's the only Empath you know on the outside, boy," he directed at Jarod.

"_...When I feel blue, in the night, and I need you, to hold me tight, whenever I want you, all I have to do is dream..._"

Emily shot up from the bed, novel falling to the floor at her feet, and stormed up to Lyle, slapping him across the face angrily. "Enough with the _High School Musical_ shit!" she shouted.

He grabbed her wrist and held onto it until tears came to her eyes and a pained little sound rose in the back of her throat. He dropped her wrist and moved past her, to the bed. Emily stared tearily at the floor, without comment. Tears fell to the floor, scattering over the carpet at her feet, breaking apart on the tops of her joggers.

Charles was there, in a flash, but Emily said, "Leave him, Dad. He didn't hurt me."

Charles scowled and lowered the gun, minimally. He didn't put it away though, and kept it trained on Lyle's chest.

Paying him no mind, Lyle said, "Hello, Geronimo. My name is Robert. I'm not interested in your family. I've come here because of you." He placed a hand on Mo's shoulder, closing his eyes. "There you are," he said, opening his eyes. Frowning, he calmly told him, "I am not your enemy today."

Emily sniffed and took the wad of tissues Margaret offered her, finally. She wiped her nose and looked up from the floor, shuffling closer to her mom. "It hurts, Mom," she whispered, crushing the tissues in her fist. "It hurts."

Margaret left her and put a hand on her husband's arm, fixing him with a steady stare.

Begrudgingly, he returned the gun to its holster underneath his jacket.

"Stop it. It's cruel. What's the matter with you? Are you going to let them tell you what to be, or are you going to take charge of your life yourself?" Lyle scrunched his face up in a disconcerted frown. "Leave him be. I don't want to hurt you, but if you continue to hurt this boy, I'll make you no guarantees."

He retracted his hand from Mo's shoulder, abruptly, and collapsed to his knees, holding his head.

"What the Hell was that?" Emily demanded, anxiously moving closer.

"That wasn't nice," Lyle said, a ticked off edge to his voice. He got back up. "You're an idiot, you know that! Thoroughly, an idiot."

"What are you doing?" Emily growled. "Why are you trying to reason with him?"

"Her," he replied, not looking at her. "She's a damn fool!"

Emily grabbed his upper arm, wrenching him back around. She met his eye. "What the fuck are you talking about, freak?"

"She is with child."

Emily sputtered a hysterical laugh, tears coming to her eyes. "I couldn't care less if she was my long lost twin! If she messes with my brother, she's gonna get burnt! Smoke her, you fool!"

"Hang on," Margaret intervened, stepping towards them.

"I don't want to hurt her, either, Margaret," Lyle told her, "but she's killing your son."

Jarod shook his head, waving his hands in a _Stop. No._ gesture. "We don't know for sure she's pregnant. We don't know for sure she's even a _she_," he interjected. "It's his word alone. I don't know about any of you, but I can't say as I trust him. A single second!" She shot Emily a pointed look: Remember last night, remember that shit he pulled with you. He's bad news.

Lyle sighed. "You can distrust me all you like, Jarod, and the rest of you, too, if you please, but this is not what we do. We don't do this. We are a part of the people. All people. All living things. This is not acceptable conduct. It is frankly disgusting - and I mean to put a stop to it!"

He returned his attention to Mo, placing a hand over his. He tightened his hold on Mo's hand. "Desist in this foolhardy behaviour, Ckara. You'll not only end in harming the boy and I... I won't allow you to continue with this-" His nose started to bleed. He wiped it on the back of his free hand, smearing blood over the side of his face. "Who do you think you are, Ckara? Who do you think you are to take something into your own hands which is not yours to take, which is someone else's? You've _no right_, Ckara. The boy's journey in this life is ultimately his own. This rests with him. Let him go!"

He scowled. His hands had begun to shake. Ckara was trying to finish it, right here, right now. He wasn't yet able to block her, but he could divert her efforts. He could take them upon himself. He was not nearly as sick as the boy. "What harm has he ever brought to your person, Ckara! You are cruel! I warn you. Let him go now."

He grimaced, blinking. "No? Ckara, Ckara. _I will make you hurt, if I have to._" He laughed. His eyes rolled to the top of his head, momentarily. "No, Ckara, I won't let you do that. If you want to end someone, you're going to have to settle for scrappy seconds. You'll not have the boy. Over my dead body." He began coughing, blood coming up and running from the hand he'd put up to cover his mouth, down along his arm.

Margaret shook her head, stepping toward him. That was enough, now.

"The child does not die!" he growled. "Ckara doesn't win. Not on this! Worry for your son. I am _not_ your friend's child. I do not deserve your thoughts." His eyes went to the top of his head and he dropped his head back, blood dripping onto the carpet from his fingers.

Overhead, the light flickered on, the bulb fizzing angrily, then flickered off again. Down the hall, in the lounge room, the television suddenly came to life. At the same time, the radio joined in on the action. Even Jarod's laptop, which he'd left open when he'd checked his email, locked.

But they didn't noticed any of these things. Only the light bulb.

Lyle screamed and his teeth began sharpening. At his side, he curled his free hand into a fist, digging the black claws into his skin.

Charles had the gun out, in a snap. His hands _almost_ didn't shake at all.

Staring hard at the floor, at the fresh spots of blood, Emily began to hum _Blue Moon_.

Jarod stepped close to her, defensively, in case he had to protect her from the creature she was standing too close to.

A strange cracking noise issued from the window and a crack appeared in the glass, growing larger slowly.

The light overheard flickered again and Lyle's hand slipped off Mo's. At the loud thud, Emily started and stopped humming. She got down on the floor and prodded his arm. "Are you still alive? What's going on with my brother? Hey, I'm talkin' at you!"

"I'm not deaf," he coughed roughly, bringing up more blood. "The boy is free of Ckara's influence."

Before he'd even finished, Emily was grabbing for her phone. She didn't ask what had happened to Ckara. She dialled Eric. He needed to come now.

"Get up!" she said, when she'd deposited of her phone back in the pocket she'd gotten it from. "I don't want you here when Eric gets here. Put that shit away. Who are you trying to scare! My Mom. You freak. HEY! I said, 'Get up!'"

"_...I love you so, and that is why, whenever I want you, all I have to do is dre-e-eam. Dream, dream, dream..._"

She punched him in the arm. "Get the fuck up before I wipe the floor with you, freak! You're not cute! You're _ruining the carpet_!"

"I'm dizzy," he said quietly. "Your loud voice doesn't help."

She screamed loudly, incomprehensibly, and jumped to her feet. "I swear I'll kick the shit out of you!"

He laughed, coughing again. "I love you!"

She looked sickened. "I'd spit on you, but I don't trust you not to save it and use it for some creepy, evil lab experiment!"

He laughed, pressing a hand to his chest. "You're killing me, Russell! Okay. Okay. Cool that temper. I'm gettin' up. Slowly. The room is still spinning much too... fast. I'm cool. Think carnival ride, Lyle." He laughed. "The one that makes all the kids look like Martians out of a bad alien flick." He sat up and stared at Emily blearily. "Oh my gosh, you're one of them!"

She glared at him meanly.

"You have no idea how that warms me inside," he joked with her. "My angry little savage with the warpath look in her eye, sharp as flint and hot as flame."

"Dream on!" she spat, with furiously narrowed little eyes.

He smiled, teasing her. "Oh, I will," he assured her.

Charles appeared close by and pressed the gun against the side of his head. "You leave now," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

"Touchy much, Chuck?" Lyle asked, getting to his feet.

Charles answered with the growl.

Lyle held out a hand to help Emily up.

She glared and pushed herself to her feet, forgoing his offer.

He looked at his hand, as though he couldn't understand her decision, and the black nails became their normal shape and colour, once more. His teeth lost their sharpness. He grinned, offering Emily a nod. "_...Whenever I want you, all I have to do is dre-e-eam. I can make you mine, taste your lips of wine, any time, night or day..._"

She smiled deviously. "_Only trouble is, gee whiz, you're dreaming your life away..._" she finished for him, lurching forward and grabbing his arms, yanking him with her towards the door. "Take your creepy dreams with you - out the door!" She shoved him at the door.

He stumbled a bit and smiled, shooting her a wink. "Be seein' you, little girl. In my dreams."

She waved cutely. "Be seein' you, freak." She pouted. "With my AK-47!"

He glanced at Jarod. "She's so playful!"

"Keep walking!" Charles growled, pointing the gun at him.

Lyle shook his head, smiling at Charles nicely, and turned and walked out.

Jarod waited until he'd cleared the room to cross to the bed and check his vitals. He didn't need for this all to have been one of his elaborate Empath hoaxes.

In the hall, Lyle started humming.

Jarod winced and suppressed a curse from crossing his lips.

"Should really get the kid a good Healer!" Lyle called from the hall, and fell silent. After a moment, he started humming again.

.

"Oh." Eric's voice got an excited little thing about it. "Oh, this is the good stuff. Jamal, I gotta say, you know howta pick 'em. Your Empath's good. That sucker's gone! Finito!" He laughed. A moment or so later, just as Jarod had begun to get his hopes up, he added, in a more sombre tone, "The damage is... pretty extensive, though. Pretty damn ugly."

He shook his head, disappointment clear in his eyes. "I dunno. I dunno," he repeated.

Emily came around from the end of the bed and stood beside him, meeting his eyes. "Can you help him?"

He sighed, drawing a heavy breath, and placed a hand on her arm. "Jeannie. Jeannie, you know that's all I want. I want to help RJ. I want to see him fighting fit as much as you and your brother do, but... But he's... he's pretty bad, I can't lie. I- Jeannie. I care. I care about you all, you know that. You've become friends. I wanna see you happy. I wanna," he cast a worrisome glance at Mo's face, "I wanna see RJ happy, for Christ's sake. I wanna see him smile and laugh. But right now, I'm having trouble pulling it off myself."

"Can you help him?" Emily repeated, without flinching or backing down.

At that instant, Jarod did see the warpath in her eyes. Un-flailing, unmoving, solid as rock. _Just try and stare her down_, he thought. He was sure who'd win, hands-down.

Eric sighed. "I can try. I _will_ try. That, I promise you, Jeans!"

"Try," she challenged flatly. It wasn't that easy to impress her. She'd seen a fearsome monster go down on its knees, go down on the floor, as though it was nothing more scary than a pet's chew toy. She wanted to see solid gold results! She didn't want to hear schtick.

.

Bobby hadn't driven the old car far out of town when he knew the game was up; it wasn't his time anymore, his brother was coming back. He'd had his little outing.

He pulled the car up on the side of the road and went for a walk amongst the trees. _Hey, hey. You're perfect._

He stopped to read his forehead against one of the trees and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, Bobby had disappeared from them.

He sighed, turned and sat down on the ground, didn't care about the dirt. He'd need to do some serious scrubbing to get the bloodstains out now, but he'd manage.

He smiled. A small thread, thinning with every heartbeat that passed, lingered, allowing him to feel Mel. She was drinking coffee in her kitchen, head in her hand, elbow on the table, laughing. Sydney had said something she found funny. It had been really funny, too. The hand she was holding her mug of coffee with shook. So bloody funny!

Lyle didn't know why she was laughing, why she was happy, but she was, so he was too. For a few moments, he felt warm. Then the thread snapped, and he was terribly cold again. Worse, conceivably, than the cold, was the pain. But he disliked the cold more.

He wanted Mel back. He wanted his sister. Wanted to ask her how she was, how the kid was, how Sydney and the others were. Had they given her a raise or what?

But she was gone.

It was cold.

He closed his eyes. His work wasn't done yet. The boy was still very, very sick. Bobby had done his trick, now it was his turn.

He gasped and his head shot back, eyes rolling in his head. This time, the light hurt. It hurt like nothing else, but it made his heart leap. He still had it! Crazy, sick bastard as he was, he still had a little good in him.

.

Eric sucked in a short, quick breath, and suddenly he knew everything. Felt everything. RJ's everything, anyway. Knew how to make him better. What to prod, what not to. It was just splendid. Ten, a hundred, a thousand times better than anything he'd ever peddled before. Just fucking gorgeous!

He reached a shaking hand for the young man's head and planted it there, so happily. Oh yes. Wasn't... wasn't life just marvellous, wondrous! He couldn't get over that feeling. That feeling of connectedness.

He would have killed to feel the same way with anyone else! With Jeannie! He couldn't help his thoughts from running to Jeannie. He liked her, and maybe she even liked him. A bit. Hell, he'd even have taken half, a quarter as much as she made out. He didn't care if she played it up, if she thought he was soft, malleable.

His heart quickened madly. If only he could have this with Jeannie! To feel so alive, to feel someone else feel so alive!

Even as his mind stumbled over his conflicting thoughts, (How did he know this shit? Oh, heck, he couldn't stop thinking of Jeannie!), he felt RJ become more alive, Healing. Felt it as though it wasn't RJ at all, but he who was leaping back from the brink of death. But better than that, better than that, RJ wasn't leaping at all - he was pulling him back!

He was... He'd never had any idea he was _that good_!

He almost couldn't stifle a manic little laugh, if only he could have got it out; if only he could have broken from his self-induced stupor.

First thing he'd do, he promised himself, was kiss Jeannie. First thing he'd do, when he broke free. Jeannie's brother - miraculously mended! Jeannie. Jeannie! She'd be over-the-moon happy, wouldn't she! She'd been really beating herself up for months over this. All of that weight, gone. He wondered how that would feel, or how Jeannie's lips would feel against his. Like cotton candy, he imagined. Melt in your mouth, eat your heart out. He'd been wanting to for a while, but he'd never had the Moment. He thought, this could just be the moment. _Oh, Eric! Eric! Eric, baby! You rock my world!_

.

There. There, you see. A small part of you didn't believe it was possible, but look what you did. You did it. You're gonna be okay, baby. Aren't you? Yeah, you! You're gonna live to fight another day.

The light withdrew, faded, dissipated.

Lyle let himself breathe properly again, let himself feel the air, the life around him. Yeah. I'm here. Back with you.

He put a hand on the back of his neck. Did it ever hurt? But what didn't. It was shitty, but not that shitty. The kid was gonna be okay. Physically, anyway. And he had his family behind him every step of the way. Even Eth, who'd not felt up to joining the rest of the gang in the kid's room; who'd hung out in the hall, instead. He had a wonderful, caring family.

Lyle smiled. Yeah. He had a family like that, too.

He stood up, slowly, and headed back through the trees, back to the old car.

.

Eric snapped out of his trance as though he hadn't been out of it at all; just like stepping through a door, crossing a threshold. He felt refreshed, alive. "I think... I think he's gonna be okay!" Okay, so his heart was racing ninety to nothing - that was just the exhilaration, the excitement!

He reached for the young guy's face, patted his cheek.

The boy glared at him. "Remove it, or lose it," he growled.

Jamal laughed.

Eric took back his hand, a little startled. Some gratitude, huh? "I saved you, dude! You're gonna be fine! Look at you - fighting fit!" He laughed. Not as naturally or bubbly as he'd have liked, but hey, a little uneasiness was understandable after the feat he'd just turned.

Jamal was already by his brother's side, clasping his hand.

Jeannie stood quietly, patiently waiting.

Waiting for what, he wondered. The kid to suddenly take one huge breath and cark it? Didn't she trust him, believe in him? Shit, he'd just pulled off a minor miracle.

"Dr. Thompson," she said, calling his attention her way.

He nodded, almost feverishly, eager to hear what she had to say, the final verdict. The ruling that counted.

"I apologise. I misjudged you. I confess, I didn't have your hope. I wasn't struck blind by your talent. But I was wrong."

He stepped closer and rested a hand in the small of her back, buoyed by feelings of his success. In the blink of an eye, he'd tipped her backward and planted a kiss on her lips.

She didn't argue with that, but clung onto him.

His heart beamed.

"Oh, somebody get me a vomit bag!" the boy complained in distaste. "A large water and a .45 on the side, thanks."

.

Pulling the car back onto the road, Lyle laughed. Oh, man, what was he gonna tell his supervisor! It didn't matter, it had all been worth it.

_Ckara, baby, you look after that kid. Don't you do her wrong. You're gonna need her love, one day. You're gonna need your family's love. Treat 'em right, okay. Don't muck up, like I did. Try not to. Try is all we can do, right. Try, and when we succeed, shit, it was only because we'd plucked up enough of somethin' to begin with, right? Ckara, you have a great life!_

_And think about takin' that maternity leave. On a permanent basis._


	12. Chapter 12

**Epilogue**

"Chickara, what happened?"

The thirty-something, dark-skinned woman breathed an aggrieved sigh, meeting her supervisor's steely dark grey eyes, her splendid Healer's eyes slowly returning to normal, the last flecks of yellow, red and lilac - a splash of colourful feathers from an exotic bird - fading into puddles of brown. "I was cut off. They had an Empath, sir. Crazy son-of-a-bitch child! Don't ask me how, but the kid managed to sever my connection. But he's one strange, sick little fella, sir. Was real... real disappointed with me, too. Like I say, strange thing, that child. Real strange. I couldn't get any sort of link started with him, just the one with the clone and it's gone now. The moment my link with Gemini went down, end of story with the boy, too."

"A kid?" he supervisor mused thoughtfully. "How old?"

"Fifteen, sixteen. I'm not certain about the specific age, but definitely a teenager."

"And a he?"

"Yes, sir," she confirmed. "There was something strange about this one, though. Something I can't put my finger on. Just strange. I felt like... like he could Read me, plain as day, whilst I was left stumbling about in the dark, unable to place my hands on a light. Like everything about me was perfectly plain to him. I didn't like it."

"Ckara!" he supervisor sounded both concerned and something more than hopeful, the beginning of excitement shining in his eyes. "An Empath higher than _a Class Seven_!" That was definitely excitement in his voice.

For some reason, Ckara was struck with a sudden, uncharacteristically uneasy feeling. "That would be my assessment, sir," she confirmed.

"This is good news, Ckara," he told her, patting her on the back in a friendly fashion. She wasn't sure whether to be pleased or unsettled.

He turned and strode to the door, obviously eager to pass on this new information to his boss. At the door, he paused, and spun back around. "Ckara, just out of interest, how's the bub?"

"She is fine thank you, sir," Ckara replied evenly, knowing, know, with certainty that she hadn't been over-imagining anything. Her supervisor was acting funny. She didn't like it, and she didn't like the way he'd asked about her baby.

Feeling the need to do something, she met his eye and moved toward the door slowly, speaking in a low, steady voice. "Sir?"

He looked surprised, for a moment, but quickly shrugged it off. "Ckara?" he returned.

By now, she'd almost reached the door, and she put out a hand.

Frowning, he stepped closer, still very much in the dark. He obviously thought she meant to share something with him, show him something. Something about the boy, perhaps. He gave her his hand, without complaint.

Taking his hand, she rested it on her swollen belly, desperately hoping, that given time, she could sway the man her way, for him to, at least, see her baby as something other than a tool in another of the company's games, as she was sure he saw her. "She is fine, sir," she told him, watching the comprehension dawn in his eyes, sparking annoyance and disgust.

He retracted his hand, but not too quickly, clearly not wanting for her to lose faith or trust in him, as long as she remained an asset he could use.

But she had caught him out, she'd seen through his eyes, into his soul. Praying that he'd trust that she still believed in him, that she'd seen nothing out of the ordinary, she smiled gently.

She'd done a lot of things, in her life, to get her way, to get where she was now, a lot of unkind, even bad things, but these things didn't trouble her. What troubled her was the bad things other people might do to her, do to her unborn baby. She would not let that happen. Whatever it took, she would prevent any harm from coming to herself or her child.

Smiling back in a show of sincerity, the grey-eyed man turned and left her, but she did not feel a weight lifted from her.

For a long time, too long, it seemed, she had been labouring under the impression that she was the best and none were better than her, and then this child came along. Out of the blue. She wondered if there was some reason to that, some rhyme, universal symmetry. She'd been arrogant, complacent in her arrogance, completely absorbed in the web she'd spun around all those around her that she'd failed to realise that as well as a blanket of warmth and security, a vantage from where she could pull all the strings, it was also a very dangerous place to be, where she was; that, in effect, she'd trapped herself.

This boy was better than her, could probably have snuffed her out like a light, if he'd so wanted to, and yet she'd walked into the battle believing herself to possess the wings and almighty powers of an angel, unstoppable. And then, the boy. All it had taken to trip her up. A fool child. She'd put herself and her most precious baby in danger, not even seeing the danger, and she'd just escaped by the hair of her chin, because the fool mad child happened to believe that her baby deserved better than that; that her little girl deserved her _own_ chance to prove who and what she would make of herself.

She already owed her life to that little baby and it hadn't yet left the womb. She prayed this was not a bad omen; that she would not die in childbirth. She was a Healer, but even Healers weren't infallible.

Even she wasn't infallible. At 327, she'd been put back in her place by a 15-year-old.

Silently, she was fuming inside, furious as Hell.

If ever the chance landed in her lap a second time, she promised her unborn daughter, she'd blow that miserable, young upstart's candle out in a snap, with not a second thought. The kid would be toast, just one of many courses she regularly took for breakfast, along with anyone else who thought themselves clever enough, secure enough, to threaten her!


End file.
